daily poem

My fins slice clean through
the soft summer air, rumbling
fire. My polished black sides
dance with the white dust.

My eyes are fixed forward.
I see everything. The standing
crowds of green shininess keep
inviting me in. The corns' single,
tasseled guns' stay still.

The smell of sweet,
meadow grasses is kicked
with wet. East are steel
monsters throwing water
across the white blue sky.

Ahead, swarms of yellow
butterflies. The road is pocketed
with pools of brown mud.
I roll through it, submerged
tires shedding water and dirt.
I am Thunderbird. I rule it all.