Long Drive From Yesterday

The hours have been driving me, I almost miss the exit ramp, I wake, I sleep. This kind of waking and sleeping is controlled by a ghost in my head. Now I am eyes on the corners where the flickering sky swings between trees, my feet juggling over the low flying road, hands winding and unwinding on a tugging wheel. This country road I know well, but the fading day wants to paint me out of a map it has redrawn. The hours have gone, they are melting back to Florida to sleep with the manatee. I am left here grinding through the gears swinging in a hammock of slow and fast moments. The driveway dives out of a side-show hedgerow. Car-parts shake themselves into silence. Benumbed bones lag behind my heart. I step out of the car crunching on my own limbs. The engine ticks in a white-hot daze. Windows watch me curiously as my stranger self enters a place it calls home.