Stop
It hurts to drive,
All the time,
And ya don’t know why?
Regardless of what the cleaners might have told you.
Its messy,
always messy.
Never in control,
always out of the way.
The wheel is barley within reach.
Now what?
You’re stuck,
Drifting miles away on the snow,
From that place you’d thought you remembered,
But had always forgotten
Like a dream, desolate and dreary in its approach.
You longed to stop moving but the engine can’t-
Won’t, never, and especially not now...
Huh,
or maybe?
It’s not the dream? Not the one you thought?
The car keeps moving anyway but you’re still lost.
Why? Oh why. Oh my.
Who the hells would find the time.
To make it all seem real.
To...
this ceaseless motion.
A drive with declarations
Consecrated by a lack of action.
Its meaningless-
No.
The road was.
All of It.
Leading us endlessly away.
In the wrong direction(s).