Long Drive from Yesterday

The hours have been driving me, miles upon miles have sunk the sky, Florida now hangs from distant cypress trees. I almost miss the exit ramp, This kind of waking and sleeping is controlled by a ghost in my head. Now I am eyes on the corners where a flickering sunset swings between interlaced trees. Feet juggle over a low flying road, while tense hands wind and unwind on a sullen wheel. This country road I know well, but the fading day wants to paint me out of my own map, the familiar takes upon it many alien shades. Hours are melting back to sleep with the Manatee, I grind through the gears swing on a hammock of slow and fast moments. The driveway dives out of a side-show hedgerow. Car-parts rattle into silence. Benumbed bones lag behind as the engine ticks on in a somnambulant daze. House windows watch curiously as a stranger to Ohio enters a place it calls home.