These roads embrace with a silent, torrid
pace; encourage want and waste; spread wide,
opening the distance to (God forbid!)
anonymous escape. For I have lied
about destination. Pressing fear of
unselfish hands forcing my hands to steer
in directions I would know little of.
The unknown, the untrusted. A sincere
wave, a gentle nod, slight acknowledgement
that I do see and hear; I just crumble
underneath your gazing voice, your judgment
of decisions made in haste. The rumble
strips beat at my tires and beat me awake
with tones of avoidance in streets I take.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
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