The highway, to me, is a war zone.
I find myself today, a passenger seat veteran,
My imagination stretches out the window while riding through limbo.
It\'s comforting.
\"How\'s the view?\"
Colors and shapes dancing by.
Still, I
Catch glimpses of indifferent characters.
Instances of shifting scenes.
Amidst the wonder of plays
And films taking place
In the car window frame of my view.
What catches my eye,
No amount of backstory could justify.
\"There.\"
A hill that makes me feel quite...
nihilistic.
This trash heap hill.
With heaps of laziness and loads of ignorant privilege spilling down its side.
Landfills—mountains of selfishness and regret.
Yet,
Having taken it upon yourself,
You further fill land with your working waste.
Never to be used again.
Although I\'d like to think we\'re not all the same,
I envision the mind behind the levels of greed and wallowing required to reach such a state of turmoil.
And I feel...
Disillusioned.
Or rather,
Disillusionment with humankind.
This trash heap hill.
Overlooking the natural wonder of the Kentucky forest.
The asymmetric juxtaposition of death and life—a symbol of parasitism.
It leaves me to wonder...
Dear Trash Troll Tyrant, of Trash Heap Hill,
Suggestively, you spread atop your garbage dump of dissipation.
Ungrateful for the dirt from which you will soon lie,
So just as your shame,
You blanket it with cardboard, plastic,
And lies.
And now I
As a humble passerby,
Sincerely I ask,
How\'s the view?