got that pit in my gut running
entrails like the gray road spun
beneath my tires, that uneasy
nervous tick before setting off
hands on wheel, so different
in my imaginings than cool
relaxed reality of humming miles
eventual ends, dreams again--
they told me, "write a book about America!"
so I wrote one about myself--
I get where I'm going
daydreaming, weaving
involuntarily, unconsciously
working on learned motion
subliminal practice,
hours miles feet seconds exits
are you wandering still?
throwing your voice across the mountain,
I gotta get my head right,
it's not so long now,
it's not so long,
before I'm
gone.
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