|
From low hope
to high heaven
My wheels
keep a turnin’
Yellow lines
go on for days
Goin’ where
I’m a gettin’ is longer than gettin’ where I want to be
Paradise
My eyes are
rusty and my cloudy coffee is cold and bitter
The only
things keepin’ me a goin’ are taillights and daydreams of a Southern
American
Beauty
My wheels
keep a turnin’
Lanes of
puzzled tar and miles that become my destiny
I drove from
Amarillo and won’t stop until I fall off the edge
The edge of
the flat countryside
Behold
Paradise
My Paradise
of fried chicken and good neck pillows
My wheels
keep a turnin’
The pedal is
my master
The road
signs own my insanity
Blood shot
with isolation
And a lack of
reception
My questions
linger when I make my own company
I step on my
master until I hit a high note
Avoiding blue
and red lights in my rearview
The rain
rolls off my fenders
And I see my
savior on the horizon
Five o’clock
shadow-thick with recklessness
Dry lips
thirst for conversation
Daydreams of
Paradise keep my wheels a turnin’
Darah Winslow is a twelfth-grade student at Central High
School.
|
