6156. STATESIDE

STATESIDE

We've got New Jersey singing,

wrapped within its network of

roads and lugs, coffee-shops and

mugs. Tuned displays of splayed

exhaust dip wide across the oiled

arc; past Linden's little lips. Fevered

sanctuary, this goathouse to the

modern day. Some kind of farming

here : oils, slicks, and gasolines.

-

There are motions within the movement,

secret things that keep even the most 

veteran trucker glued to his seat  -  

for anything can happen here.

-

Unloosen that, your cargo.

Bow down, low, before the

tunnel. Magna carta eyes and

Kenworth pulses. This is our

Democratia. Dementia.

-

Blow away, Arcadia, dissolve

in acid smoke. Miles and more

are catalogued here. The dead

 are crowding the curb.