if freedom were a moment
it would be midnight in june,
alone with the scent of freshly cut grass and car exhaust as companions,
and the wind brushing scruffy hair back into bleeding ears,
becoming deaf from the guitar squeals and drum kicks blasting through the radio,
understanding that it can only be fully absorbed at full volume,
and letting it fade into the white noise of the wind and passing cars in the left lane content to drive on into infinity,
content to believe in the endless space of an open highway lit only by stars in the sky and headlights extending on into the black horizon,
not thinking so much as feeling, vibrating, pulsing, moving as one with the thousand pounds of steel and glass that fly at a thousand miles an hour,
and feeling invincible,
nothing can feed a wild heart like flying
at a thousand miles an hour