as if i haven’t worn enough of a trench
laying down rubber like lines of paint over lapping
the beginnings of a yarn ball modern painting
tooling back and forth on these roads that will not forget
that i have rolled over them doing nothing but dreaming
of what could be off the next exit
dreaming of escaping off that too too familiar path
for all of my hoping those streets always seemed to end in places of usuality
a final red haltering stop
but on those bright and rare occasions they would end
with clear signs of further goings
even if there was no further to be gone that day