On this medieval highway devoid of thought,

Each car a box,
Each one mocks
the other’s part
in this deeply depressing farce.

As an idiot crashes and splits open his head
The horror show halts.

An endless line of hungry mouths
coalesces and waits for motion.

Dumb.
Repetitive.
Motion.

Having experienced such a non-event
one thing became abundantly clear:

I am the only living man
with time on his side.

I say this
not in a boastful manner,
quite the opposite.

For a man that does not crave motion,
isn’t really a man at all.
And he should probably just crash his car
like the idiot up the road.