Monday, December 22, 2008
Sometimes I dream I'm driving
with no destination in mind. Just
ribbons of asphalt through small
towns. Sharp spikes of sunlight
thrown across truck stop haunts
with their grubby little restaurants.
And I'm downing my second cup of
coffee thinking isn't America great,
the refills are always free. It's been
long, this journey. I want to bury my
past deep within the chipped formica
table and start again. Get directions
away from me. Slick and clean. Brand
new. Isn't that what they say today?
You're acting all brand new. Dreaming,
I tell myself I'll remember this. This is
the first day of the rest of my life. Night
breaks into morning and outside my
window everything is restless.