Not always but sometimes when I put on some music
I get lost. Driving on highways that turn into two-lane roads,
I bend and weave through Pennsylvania, Delaware,
Maryland: the scenery’s exotic and I know I’m not
too far from home if I’m in any of those lands.
I’ve always joked if I go any further states away
then I know it’s trouble. Not always but sometimes when I put on some music
I turn it up until it escape the metal walls I keep
my heat on filling in: lost in a little land-locked marble,
held between metal barriers, I roll along the asphalt
and gravel, the concrete, and dream of how
roads are really Rube Goldberg machines,
how I would represent them with wooden
train tracks and silver balls, weight-tripped levers,
stop signs and timers, highways in constant motion.