Zip through the rolling

hills of oxycontin country,

in a foreign made car.

Blast rainbow pop,

the hits that never

got around to any

chart climbing —

this is their moment.

Send them out in pink puffs

of sound floating above

a front yard goat, tied up

to a front yard fridge, and

the color will waft into

the nature reserve. Where

in its gloom a mouse gnaws

on a deer antler.