highways & melodies
I listen to the drum beat
and hate it
filled with the drag of chairs
televisions
the bottoms of cups and glasses
the horrible crumple of plastic
holding food
bang cabinet door, car door
distantly, again
and the next day
and the next morning
and the night
sometimes the rare silence
always hiding a great roar of rages
becomes the benchmark of stillness
and again when I listen to the night or to the morning
it's the highways rushing to the shopping center
and back
dragging smokestacks and truck exhaust
an ocean dome that swallows itself
yet holds no mystery or horror
only machines filling the air
and soulful disfigurement
only one car of thousands
will ever move away to the sunset
that finite line that never existed
for encased people like me
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