Sprawling in America

Trucks hauling away defunct Malls. One city has been transported to another, until superimposed, only the name are different. Freeways chase endless miles, looking for more things to shift, shlep and shoulder. Ninety per cent of everything movable is assembled by 100 percent of new renters. Oil, cattle, and inflammable gaseous toxins, are handled by cab radios, satellite commands, and shredding rubber. The main drags compete to be anonymous, wear the same masks, many disintegrate or morph into closed forever signage. In the concrete encircled, whittled-down woods, lovers try to imagine a better place to live, one that is not yet on the road.