it’s called a freeway
an asphalt path of fixed dimensions
yellow lines that stretch on the sides for all of known infinity

the power lines caress the road
stand with altitude
and dangle the aspirations of masses upon their high voltage wires
if followed they lead to electric victories
steadfast
they’ll get there eventually

in sepia skies
they hope to find liberty
with supernatural figures
that supposedly have all the answers
but they
never once
asked a question of any significance

when the flat road ends
only then does the truth step forth
out of the shadows it emerges
the bluebirds that sing are nothing but vulchers
and the edge of your culture’s coins read:
in the truly gruesome do we trust
hit in the face by a sucker punch
victims fall into the potholes
on their backs they lie
with an arm extended upwards
towards their lost ambitions

my path veers off the interstate
into undiscovered territory
which I bulldoze my way through
powered by momentum
affinity for the unlimited
thirst to indulge
in the ideas that spiral like fractals
through the unknown

my path reaches into the stratosphere
loops around planets
tunnels through stars
dips into black holes, new galaxies
and curves into whatever my imagination may demise

I often wade through pond scum
shadow box the demons that command obedience
echo negativity
attempt to slash my skin open
grab my youthful soul
and throw it into reality
the most malleable of all constructs

when the ending approaches
I’ll dine with the gods
the greats
emerged in victory
living above the sun
free of gravity
as a renegade