Hills Like Hot Air Balloons From the hills Looking down over The coastal plain Hot air balloons Chase the sun Upward, One hell of a show For the motorists Who for a second Stopped caking On make-up And didn't think About Starbucks and Simply remembered something, Sequestered, From youth. Perhaps life has Much more substance Than a morning commute. But A cell phone rings. The sun wins the race. And the gears of capitalism Turn in marked rhythm, Punching in the time clocks Until the health insurance Won't cover the costs. Perhaps life has Much more substance. I long to know.