The Man Who Loves Scenery

drives a truck between Etown & Indy
was thrilled when I tipped him off
to the small wonders of the Joe Prather

mountains, he calls those knobs
tells his son he drives the mountains
of Kentucky, but never makes it east
of Lexington

the man who loves scenery
pulls up Van Halen tab on his cell
plays Zeppelin on the weekends
picks up a mandolin now & again

the mornings are hard, rolling down
almost four hours in good weather
a long time in his own head
with things just rushing by
a castle just outside Lexington
hawks, turkeys, and buzzards on the Prather
the knobs coming down off the ridge
shrouded in fog some days like
it really was a mountain

he took the kid to a cave
you got to go if you got time
you got to take the kid if he's there
motion's what you got to share, not meaning
a howling silence, a warm buzzing sun
cutting through miserable

to be gone, torn away from nameless doom
to wring every precious second of sound
out of the cuts and hills, to bust up
flat lands and easy grids, to be gone
to be gone, to be going, to be moving
scenery flashing by, one step in front of nothing
the flat lands in your mirror, the hissing
of trees, the buzz of the road
the feel of a

castle,
where no castle