You Turn
The starting line long gone,
Still a reminder in the rearview mirror.
Objects seem closer than they appear,
And the road ahead lies further than the eyes can see.
Seatbelt flapping madly in the wind,
A pseudo-sense of flittering freedom.
Distorted images dance to the rhythm of an oldie on the radio,
And the heat goes on.
The awkward grip of 9-5 on the steering wheel,
A bad case of C(it as it is) tunnel syndrome,
Turned to an X(it), X(caped it) to true X(pressionism)...
And slipped comfortably in a 10-2 victory pose.
Without even a glance over to check the blindspots,
Veering off on a tangent to some distant place,
Hallucinations tease of a journey with one final destination.
How much longer will this drive be, as the needle passes empty?
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