the air is so quiet you
can almost hear the leaves
and we shoot holes in the air
with the punctuation
and punchlines
of our stories

the hills around roll up and yawn
there’s the sweet smell of
barbeque and cut grass in the air

it’s easy to watch stories build
up in front of the bright lights
of tractor trailers
it’s hopeless to wonder what
it would be like any other way
or with any other configuration

it’s easy to visit and revisit
each niche of every twist
and turn
it’s impossible to wonder
where this all is
when we are not here


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