The road I travel has called me again.
Yet, that's not true, as the voice was never quiet.
It was only hidden away like a pair of shameful eyes.
Closed to the admonishments of a sadistic lover.

Yet always there bubbling, percolating, cajoling in a soothing voice.
Beckoning me with memories of freedom and the comforting drone of the road.
Reminders of rest areas swarmed with hopeful travelers with red eyes and creaking joints.
The vending machine stand stoically in a row like good soldiers standing at attention.

Windows open, air buffeting, my face is that of a child catching the new rays of spring.
Music blaring, singing along, my soul rising like a barometer as high pressure moves in.
Right lane driving, eyes gleaming, each passing car tells a story of hope and and unveiled inspiration.
Small towns passing, unrealized lives, I ache to know you. Yet our paths must remain distantly apart.

Night falls and the excitement only builds.  The bulbs of light above are my guide.  No map has their magnetic draw.
The scene changes as the road becomes deserted. My fellow journeyers are swimming or ordering room service.
My metal friend shall be my bed.  This jug of water my frigid shower in the morning.  Late night talk radio my lullaby song.
My thoughts are pure and calm as I curl up in the backseat.  No fear or remorse that I've spurned all lovers. My needs are few and my heart is full.