You think its safe to Travel down these main Arterials of conversation Emptying the traffic of their Blood onto my interstates - you Think its safe to ask How I have been.
You think the freight Of these clipped phrases Will spin to rest aside The breakdown lane; Peaceful as if ruts We drove were Never formed.
As if these intersections Burnt out reds and yellows Could have warned an Earlier evacuation.
You take your easy tongue Thin fingers flip a mapsize Page to draw anew I look at you and grimace.
Here, at a safe and known Rest area you ply your craft - I ache. My asphalt bleeds oil You start the engine up To see how far you Can get before a Twenty-seventh stalling Will commence.
Its pitiful little difference Here, between turn and through lane Between how I feel and felt - So scarce the switch I hardly know myself.
~CRH November 2012
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