Along 15, the earth is balding,

flakes of skin protest in tiny

tornadoes made of sand.

Food grows where water flows

where rations are sanctioned

in the land of green.

From dust it began, to dust

it returns. Flat land, flat land

slowing the veins to pass

other trucks, econo drivers

emerge from right lanes

to a dead tire-tread audience and

windshields splattered with bugs

Flat land, flat land there is no town

no name to this endless space

silent passengers

lost in thoughts

napping past sickness –

I’ve been somewhere like this

in a video game.

Cathyann Cusimano is a beat poet of illumination. She shines a light on whatever catches her attention, puts the images in a blender and hits the gas. Cathyann enjoys creating works of art out of a multitude of media and making an adventure out of spontaneous experience.