The sound of highways, massaged by restless tires; sluggishly moving with the rush-hour glow-worms of constipated dreams. Collectively we’re quenched by listless waiting; stuck behind snowplows, with inane radio-shows to pass the time. The wipers battle melting sleet, with darkness having teeth of carnivores.
The jaundiced streetlights are the brushstrokes from a dying leper’s parchment.
Linked to Carpe Diem
November 11, 2014