Interstate
There is no Jesus as the miles go over by,
My only thoughts are held together by trees.
“Logic, next right, after dream.”
Nothingness is made of sky.
I have no savior as the road signs pass.
Love is poured
Across the landscape with anti-freeze.
Memory is foresight once the glass is clean.
There is no Christ child in the rain.
I knew the answers
To the questions posed on road signs.
“Pain, two miles after Drudgery?”
“Happiness? You just passed it”
The highway has no messiah.