My mission has become a haze
In these droning hours—
Snaking pavement,
Grass coated medians:
Another couple hundred miles,
Another tank of diesel fuel,
Another nook and cranny town
Left unexplored by my consciousness
As the gas logo sign posts,
Bat me in the eye
Like flies
Pillars and bridges are swooping down
With on and off ramps
Leading to livelihoods
That embrace all the homes
That I defy.
Would they ever acknowledge the
Sentence to freedom, the
Wandering, quivering, blues that (I)
Want to leave behind me.
The diesel echoes in and out
Of ominous, overcast
Purple anger
And I will travel onward
And I’m ignoring the reflected
Spite spat
Upon the mournful plains.
This moving truck is full.
I’ve left nothing behind
Except for friends, family and Rimma
Who is so much on my mind.
I remember the rainy night
In her apartment’s hush
When the only light in the world
Was the bulb hanging above us.
Rimma’s foreign accent
Was so far away from home.
Rimma’s beauty was so lonely
Rimma’s life was on the roam
I see Rimma on every horizon
When my heart sits frozen in fear.
And now that I am finally on the road
I have left her behind to find her here.
So I am trying to find Rimma
And no matter what happens to me
I will still see Rimma on the horizon
And be graced by her eternity.
Well written.
thank you
Only wanna remark on few general things, The website layout is perfect, the articles is really fantastic. “Art for art’s sake makes no more sense than gin for gin’s sake.” by W. Somerset Maugham.