I dart in and out of, divided by
the painted lines. There’re the fast ones
and the slow ones, depending on the
time. Did you ever feel like you’ve been dumped

here, in the middle of a traffic jam? Do you
feel like you don’t make a difference?  I want to be
an airplane, high above it all. When I look out
my window people are ants I could squash

beneath my feet. Every step a moving street. I’ve been run
over many times. Tire tracks left these impressions.
Wonder what you would get if you connected
the lines. Maybe a constellation. I’m the unnamed star.