Light is shattering
Across I-70, shards.
Clutter redirecting
open mouths, glistening (Impact, they breathe)
As if I could hear anything but the road
demons braying by my outside rear-views.
It keeps shattering:
a car spilling
across lanes, trucks, tires,
bouncing lights farther
and more comes.
The day shutters
until the unlimited light pinks
at a Maryland rest stop.
My coin slips into the maintained silence
of vending machines.
My coin shatters once blank
noise.