My cold windsheild and thick glasses
refracted the glow from street lamps,
illuminating stretched, yellow landscapes
under dark treetops and roads.

Popping a piece of last November's Melon Mint,
I coughed and ascended stately round steps
into sliding doors and children frolicking.

Striding leisurely through multiple imaginations,
who's to say whose thoughts I should next examine,
whose worlds I will explore, hidden beyond
mediums of color, placement, fame and notoriety?

I don't want to judge books by their covers,
but my own time is limited.