Surrealistic road trip seems scripted,
through a gray green tinted, pair of perched polarized blinders.
Misinterpreting the fly by sliders of wispy Pennsylvania pine trees.
She eyes up the passing ground.
She eyes up the momentous sea,
of iridescent fiery fleeting thoughts.
She counts on ringed fingers, the tribe, the flock.
Heading north in an “S” shaped city bound stock,
of over worked slick fingers.
The minuscule blue pills have made thoughts like uncompleted sentences.
Left to linger.