Pictures of Passing Cars

My bare feet pound the dark burning concrete and the street stretches on long and painful.  My eyes find the line in between clarity and where the ground swims rippling with heat, fueled only by greed and lust for the road, I am driven onward.  I know my choices and I know deeply my passions and the bitter truth that they do not mix. I cannot possibly have my cake and eat it too, the philosophy that has always withstood the test of time, looms ever apparent in this situation. I know I cannot have one with the other, but am well aware that venomous unhappiness follows both paths.  Instead of brooding- at which I am so naturally talented, I push forward down the road, conquering only my physicality of which is trite. 

 I have accumulated no enlightenment nor arrived at any decision. 

The tall grass, prematurely yellowed in the sudden but most expected Oklahoma heatwave is riddled with invisible cicadas enveloping my senses. The wind does here does not merely blow through the stalks, it hiccups and tufts of cotton drift lazily by most likely serving as fortuitous transportation to thousands of tiny yellow white summer gnats that bounce up and down like tiny molecules before my eyes and surrounding my body.