It is the long road again, the one of
Blackened memories
Forced to wilt.
It is the road to compulsion, every face
Hope and disappointment carving
Deeper. It is tender
Intoxication
That calms the beast and brings it
To a dance. It is a
Swerving
Single lane of gravel, lights beady as the accusing
Eye of Cerebrus foretelling
Longer loneliness.
It is the road that sucks you
Dry of energy with each step.
Cars and eyes blind and run, but never one close enough
To claim the offering.
It is a road chosen,
Through sheer obstinacy and idealism, the one that
No one walks and
One walks all alone.

It is a road that you've been
On and off awhile, where music paints
A weak foreground, too watered to conceal
The lurid obscenities of the truth,
A Picassoesque deformity
Of perspective and truth.
This road leads to the end of walking,
To that which is solitary and taming,
Quiet and sweet. But
This road strengthens and hones your limbs,
So taut and sculpted
Like a honey horse, but who's looking?
This road passes many people,
Many tired, some tired of running,
Too few alone and walking it
For its own sake.