The highway changes when you travel it At different times, In different seasons, Weathers, road conditions, or decades. The places you pass and your final destination Will change entirely from year to year Or day to night. The highway will tell you totally different things, The signs change from year to year And day to night.
The sky goes dark, the lights come on, Some letters are lost, and new meaning found. A roadside motel becomes simply a "mote," There is vacancy where before There was nothing at all, Just an abandoned fruit stand, which by twilight Becomes a small house— The siding might be yellow or brown— With dark curtains and neon signs Proffering readings, psychic insights, an open palm.
The other night, I came to the end of the highway. I would have crashed right through the barrier But God or my survival instinct intervened, And my journey continued On a different highway altogether.
I am the empty space between the highways, Abandoned strip of indirection, Subsisting on passers-by's throw-away food and emotions / Civic midsection / I am a buffer / I lead nowhere and no roads leads to me / I am the empty nest of a bird long flown to the wetlands / I am everyone's, cared for by the city, I am where the bodies are buried sometimes / I am where teenagers get high, The lake of grass from which Charon ferries you and your people to the other side, I am where tall grasses sway at midnight, Snowplowsand. Cars pass. Hourglass headlights.
I'm going to take all of my scars And build a highway to the stars. I'll learn how to love myself And stop living like an elf Stuck on a shelf. It will be the hardest journey Of my life, no doubt. But in the end, I'll find something Worth writing about.