it took ages to pull away from the
dragnet of suburban houses industrial
parks and warehouses now at last the
open road 120 more miles of it they’ll
be asleep when we finally pull up and
fumble in the darkness for the key blue
the old earthenware jar
it only takes a miniscule pressure for
the machine to surge forward the hidden
world of technicians that made it
possible
the cylinders fashioned somewhere in
industrial Japan the oil in the tank
from the Arabian deserts every mile took
two weeks to build the base layer the
limestone the precast slabs the
jet-black asphalt the perfect white and
yellow lines on the bond of man from
Lublin imagine AK who put it together so
well you’d never have to give them or
their work a moment’s thought alongside
in other lands
trucks carry mast parts of the nation’s
needs scissors lampshades biscuits
things that will be part of someone’s
bedroom accompaniments to a meal as
now we must stare ahead pretending not
neglected parts of one’s inner life
emerge on the road ideas associations
feelings driving is an unexpected tool
for thinking I’d here it becomes less
frightening to look inside us one can
always draw away to the clouds in the
vast horizon
out here we’re ready err to forgive to
feel loved and to dare to hope again
with the stereo we can put on
extraordinary signed an image shoes
symphonies requiems and love songs
choreographed to the beauty of the
fugitive landscape in the service
station in the gathering darkness it
feels easier to love humanity everyone
is a stranger here we can guess at the
sorrows that brought them to this place
perhaps a father who sees them only once
a month a disappointed participant in a
meeting he estelí arranged online the
sadness is not necessarily depressing
everyone is a little dislocated the
loneliness we carry about inside us
meets with the loneliness of others and
is redeemed then back out to the car I
are still to go the instruments will
glow in the darkness stars will appear
overhead while peculiar valuable ideas
emerge in the cocoon of the cabin and we
are surreptitiously returned a little to ourselves
dragnet of suburban houses industrial
parks and warehouses now at last the
open road 120 more miles of it they’ll
be asleep when we finally pull up and
fumble in the darkness for the key blue
the old earthenware jar
it only takes a miniscule pressure for
the machine to surge forward the hidden
world of technicians that made it
possible
the cylinders fashioned somewhere in
industrial Japan the oil in the tank
from the Arabian deserts every mile took
two weeks to build the base layer the
limestone the precast slabs the
jet-black asphalt the perfect white and
yellow lines on the bond of man from
Lublin imagine AK who put it together so
well you’d never have to give them or
their work a moment’s thought alongside
in other lands
trucks carry mast parts of the nation’s
needs scissors lampshades biscuits
things that will be part of someone’s
bedroom accompaniments to a meal as
now we must stare ahead pretending not
neglected parts of one’s inner life
emerge on the road ideas associations
feelings driving is an unexpected tool
for thinking I’d here it becomes less
frightening to look inside us one can
always draw away to the clouds in the
vast horizon
out here we’re ready err to forgive to
feel loved and to dare to hope again
with the stereo we can put on
extraordinary signed an image shoes
symphonies requiems and love songs
choreographed to the beauty of the
fugitive landscape in the service
station in the gathering darkness it
feels easier to love humanity everyone
is a stranger here we can guess at the
sorrows that brought them to this place
perhaps a father who sees them only once
a month a disappointed participant in a
meeting he estelí arranged online the
sadness is not necessarily depressing
everyone is a little dislocated the
loneliness we carry about inside us
meets with the loneliness of others and
is redeemed then back out to the car I
are still to go the instruments will
glow in the darkness stars will appear
overhead while peculiar valuable ideas
emerge in the cocoon of the cabin and we
are surreptitiously returned a little to ourselves
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