Friday, March 11, 2016


At last, at least, I've arrived
at disgust. These arrogant detours
half listening to You in the
back seat. Driving down
Obstinate Street again
like self willed seventeen.
Finding myself: driving circles
around You around I. My
routes reroute through treason.
Meek here at last: Direct me.
I will not ask to
know the road. To grasp
any moment but this moment.
I'm throwing the gps out of the window.
I'm done with mapquest micromanaging
With en route panicking.
I'm handing over the keys. You
know the road, this
good road.
You drive us:
Let's go home.

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