Blacktop varicose veins
On a flesh-like earth
I-94, again
Everything here looks the same
A dusty, pale crater face
With dry and bitter bones
Edges of color routinely violate
What is often laden with lace
A two-ton heavy blood cell
Runs and runs
Flows and hums
Trying to escape the hell
I know nothing of this land
Barren, sick and old
I-94, again
But at least it's not my hand(An exercise for college about "place")
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