I'M

I'm I'm singular. I'm night-driving. With vibrant hum of standard speed. I'm glowing of dashboard. Utterances of am talk alien abductees and remote viewing. Barely diverts my musing. I night-drive periodically. A rite of wanting Control, of the wheel. Arm out window night air cooling me. Headlight on blacktop. A yellow metronome. This nights topic , I'm. A question proposed, by a small man in robes. I started the list: I'm a modern Tom Sawyer an ebb-and-flow. I'm this psycho-manic jester. Dharma junkie, with subjects. I'm Charlie Brown on acid but who love the dog. I'm a skin head hippie. A guy with no wrist watch. I'm a independent film critic speaks religiously of Fight Club. I'm these and other clever observation. I stopped at a neon diner for tools of thought: Coffee, pen, paper, and consumers of isolation. Filling a page of I'm looking for a singular a true answer. Just finding personas and learned traits. It came to me this I'm. While leaving the tip. In my wallet a picture of my children looking full of me.