The Ride

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Outside my window, rolling hills of lilac blow in the breeze,
But the blue-carpeted seats take away from what I see in the world.
When we stop, I hear birds singing songs of spring,
And then we start moving again, and it’s replaced by the ding of people wanting off.
Through the open window the smell of sweet blossoms invade my senses—until a man who smells rancid sits next to me and mumbles about fences and talks to himself.
The view outside makes me feel free,
But I notice one, two, three cameras watching me and tracking my actions.
Out there, surrounded by trees and protected by their cover.
In here, surrounded by plastic and steel and rubber and dirty glass.
Oh Nature please get me out of this beast of technology.





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