Driving along the asphalt
Crystallized concrete and exploitation
Your reactions and transmission automatic
And the radio mimics your state
Bouncy, but without substance
Waiting to be filled—
Nothing is created, only transferred
And you’re barely aware of your tires
And of your speed, or control
Until your headlights flash
Illuminating the mirrors
Of a car pulled over, turned off
Experience collides with recognition
Shards of adrenaline, like glass or flesh
Are spilled across your stomach
Passing the vehicle
A relief sweeps the streets
The cones are removed and blood
Like traffic, decongests
As the car on blocks
Residing without owner
Peacefully unaware of the impact
Shrinks in the rearview
And your world, composed of this
Nothing else, seems to crystallize