A Pome a Day for a Year

I choose to sweat it out, basically
running through oil fields
of central California while Tony
asks me for another try.

Those boxes contain our weaponry
though amazons have felt
that they belonged primarily,
a race track of gold left behind.

At least this is how I envision,
at current take I believe it truth,
but if I was to avail I would see
the rose coloured wood was an illusion.

Feeling an axel, copping to a longing
that is, where my cog aligns
this two minute getaway stripped bare
all right angles vanish.