The manual transmission sticks at times, a reminder that we need a service and I need to find a new place for my engine to unwind. There was a time when things were simpler, when you could change the sparks … Continue reading Time to drive. a poem.
The prairie and the road calls, A waltz of remembrance Dancing along the asphalt, Like a tumbleweed made of last regrets. The stick shift clicks in place, The tension defining its existence mirrored on the driver’s face. Wheels spin and … Continue reading Driven. A poem.
Drive across the aimless asphalt, seeking ventures gained and lost. Your hand is soft in mine, the patina of your skin a road map of anxious lines and weary learnings. Today the sun and hills call forth, in a circus … Continue reading Day Trip. A poem.
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