From:  The Toyota Gets It

The skyline advances wild; everything in it advances—but with no beat to time to, no pace.  Sun golds the windows.  You won’t go in.  Desks + plants + (your) absence manufacture ________, and you

goes where you please go. 

Today, be real. 

No smelling for packrat in the bushes.  Drive. 

Bask on crisp vinyl and leave

the distant rising be.  Oak slopes shade

what comes to them, but in your mind,

you may not tread on acorns. 

“Lovely,” you mumbles

when you gets there.  The oaks smell dust just like this.