the concrete road

still dark and darkening night, the dead cold of dying winter,

rain against the windscreen, speed in easy, selfish solitude.

my shirt gives up the scent of soap.

(i have no other dream.)

noise surrounds me, the oil-ribbed sounds of a lost summer,

the meaningless bypass between here and some other place.

yet hands formed this path.

(i have no othe...

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