roads and lights

roads and lights, but mostly darkness and the moon, and highway signs.

you were a driver with your windows down and the music up, painting yourself the wandering solitary American soul. was 27 just roads and exhaustion?

i liked trains a lot, but the sitting, not very much at all. who do we write to when we are alone with ourselves?

i kicked out my father the other night, and it was a long night. you're not supposed to kick out fathers, but sometimes fathers are just men who slept with a woman you knew, who did regrettable things for years, until the woman realized that this man most certainly didn't love her, and sometimes this woman was not your friend, nor your roommate, but your mother, who happened to have a kid, or a handful of them, which makes it harder to just leave.

did you think you were a suave, cheating man? i think some men find it easy, and some men find it actually not what they thought they wanted at all, but what is a man, but a woman with different parts?

on fridays, I don't remember much on the road. the sound of strangers having feelings and talking on their phones accompanies me the way the scuffling sound of a hungry rodent in the middle of night, in a dark house does, in a very unwanted way.