All night she drives. She will not stop.
She drives down the night highway.
My feet wrapped in gauze
are soft as my pillow.
Her hands clinch the wheel.
She stares down the white line
lusting after distance,
craving a destination.
My feet are dressed in gauze
that loosens and and falls.
Where are we driving in the small hours,
mile beyond mile beyond the white line?
The sun too far away to rise
lies lost beyond the Earth's slow rolling.
Where have you driven me
down the night highway?
I want the brakes on.
I'm not ready for speed.
What line have we transgressed?
I've no yen for scenery. I see
only unexceptional spectres
in lack-lustre colours.
I've circumambulated days
on feet too tender for the highway.
My waves crest at low tide.
I'm unable to fly.
And how can I walk back in the pitch black?
This gauze is torn to pieces.
Oh, don't despise me.
Get me some shoes!
Tell me there's pleasure beyond
the minute-hand sweeping the morning.
Tell me there's pleasure beyond
the slow drift of stars. Tell me
we'll be dancing before dawn
in heavenly cities lit
in neon and incandescent dust.
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