Each day,
I count the highway signs
as I pass by,
hoping to follow them all
and tattoo them on my skin
with the dust of my tires.

Each day,
I drive the same route to work
and then home,
wishing,
just once,
my heart would go off-road.

Each night,
I mournfully regale the moon
with tales
of journeys great men traveled,
trips brave women blazed,
and my own bland,
listless meanderings between
work
and then home.

Each night,
the Moon beckons me
to chase the horizon
with open arms,
calls vehemently
for the chained thing
beating in my breast
to fly headfirst
into the Unknown.

One night
I will listen.