I used to whisper stories to the asphalt,
wanting to be anywhere but the city
I lived in.
Passing overhead green signs became routine to me,
I saw them more than birds swooping across civilian streets.
I would drive until I felt at home--
no wonder I still feel unsettled.
I am a modern nomad.
A human vagabond.
As I drove,
counting time in white lines passing
and days in rearview mirror sunsets
I'd beg to the roads,
"Find a life for me, freeway."
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
I used to whisper stories to the asphalt,
wanting to be anywhere but the city
I lived in.
Passing overhead green signs became routine to me,
I saw them more than birds swooping across civilian streets.
I would drive until I felt at home--
no wonder I still feel unsettled.
I am a modern nomad.
A human vagabond.
As I drove,
counting time in white lines passing
and days in rearview mirror sunsets
I'd beg to the roads,
"Find a life for me, freeway."
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