Going
The engine rumbles
with god-like headlights
dominating the highway.
I focus on the road,
instrument panel
illuminating the cab with
an eerie green glow.
Pavement breaks grass.
Night breaks day.
I'll break the state line
by dawn,
but that doesn't mean
I know where I'm going.
A thousand voices ring
in my ear, calling after my
heavy heart held back
in the city I left behind.
Mom, I'm wondering
if that's where I belong,
after all.
Lord knows
the gray shade
of sage brush
and moths
flickering past the window
offers more mystery
than solice.
But I had to get away
from his twinkling eyes,
his touch, enticing
the moment....
everything was a moment
back in the city,
a single, fleeting moment,
and once it was
gone, you never
got it back.
Here on the highway,
the moment never ends,
continuous and gaping
since the first
turn of the wheel.
As I watch another mile
fall off the odometer,
I'm comforted
by the fact that
the formula of the truck
will never change,
and I trust that blade
to cut myself off with
every bend of the road,
every all-night diner,
every empty town
I drift through unnoticed.
But despite all this,
I can still hear the voices,
see the faces, feel the rush
of the dirty city.
And I'm pushing my foot down
harder on the gas,
pushing into the road, pushing into the night,
engine rumbling, headlights illuminating,
going, going, constantly going,
no destination,
pushing into the night,
going, going,
never to come back.
Another mile falls off the odometer.
Engine rumbles,
headlights shine,
and the rearview mirror
looms like a ghost.
