The Hidden Maw of the Cosmos

I yearn for the freedom of the open road,
the one not marked not paved by cobblestone.
but the one that the sun feeds
and the cold air breathes.
the one illuminated by stars,
that my ancestors used to navigate.
they say well live on mars,
and i doubted that until late
when i was reminded of the open road,
and the freedom that it borrows.

Under the purple gaping maw of the cosmos
that makes up my bone marrow
in late January nights
where my veins literally freeze
where my nightmares are voided by starlight,
and i suffer through the longest weeks
is when i most relate to the brown turned leaf
and their hunger for the suns plasma.
the open road appeals to me
and the freedom, the very last of
that which i can find under metal trees,
and the hidden maw of the cosmos