rites of passage

yellow and blue stains
define America's roads
where highway signs once lived,
overlooking the landscape's progression
into womanhood.

we once rested comfortably
in mother nature's bosom
before our seeds planted
a different kind of green,
growing across state lines.

America, why do you live
between civilization?
silently resting in the dead space
beside rising gas prices
and odd-numbered exit signs

do you grieve for the way it used to be?
when your spirit passed through open windows
and the blues slipped beneath backdoors
into the ears of eager speakers
who replayed your music
through word of mouth?

America, i've watched you
make love with the devil
and sell your soul
to the next highest bidder.

i've seen your children
clamor for their mother
during 5 o'clock traffic jams
while listening to the
reconstructed echo of rock stations.

i've come upon
your remains in the dirt
after digging for silence
on overcrowded streets.

America, i found you
in the foggy green hills
of west virginia,
still beautiful
as ever.