Highway 9 at Midnight Anymore I don't care so much about speedbumps, stop signs, fifth floor ledges you. I watch your eyes like stoplights, the warnings always presents telling me when to stop or go or take a turn. I can hear you, can see you there all warm arms and promises, but with you I could never hold what I needed to keep me, could never be what I knew it was all burning inside where the anger and the cool lamp of what it is I love about you are the same. I never tire of waiting for empty skies and nothing: no rain, no thunder, no stars or geese overhead. There is just this road, this long flat of Indiana empty fields and a sign telling me to stop soon. But I keep on driving, zoning into the yellow lines drawn to keep me from passing, and the wild shoulder of the road sprinting by.
Reason for writing:
I wrote this about a long, boring Indiana highway I used to drive down while I was in college; I also wrote it about the person whose house I travelled to via this highway. An old friend.
Birth sign: Not entered
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