3AM
Green, paint-chip delivery trucks,
the great, steel dinosaurs
that roar their engine screams
as they pass.
Staring
past translucent, bug spotted glass,
to black velvet illusions,
lit only by glowing spheres
near the side of the road.
Gazing out
to the smooth, tar slab
it is surrounded
by a crushed and rusted ribbon barrier,
stretching on and on to forever.
Contemplating
day, concluding night
shapes and shadows pace the highway.
While I grip the cool plasticity of the wheel,
and coast down fantastic streets,
fresh night breezes blow,
around the last turn,
to the end of the road.