Driving Depressed
He wants to nestle into a few words, and weep
silently. Driving he is tuned
to the undersides of pine boughs
he sees the shadows within the forest floor.
The sleeping, cool shadows beneath bridges
lie in friendly pools. The green treetops
make discord with the sky which cringes
faintly. The sun screams faintly in
another house. The words on signs and trucks
pass him by with no meaning, like
the stones beside a path. The people in
their cars about are as separate from him
as stones, except their secret hearts which he
cannot reach without weeping.
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