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White Strips
When I drive down my road
and I look in my mirrors
they shake
interesting
my music must be too loud
so I turn it down
I can see the pebbles in the snow
kicked up by the last teenager to race down this lane
the little black dots make the road look like a Shell Silverstein sketch
how funny
it's been forever since I read his poems
I loved them
I wonder if I still have that book...
no matter
I'll get home soon
that car still rattling as I go
that's probably why I had my music so loud
it was silly though
still is
I love to feel the vibrations in my seat
I doubt my parents would like this song
I'm not even sure if I do myself
How silly yet again
I think of myself as so grounded
yet I cant even tell what I'm thinking
or what I like and enjoy
As conscious as I am
as deep as I look
within myself
I still cant put a finger on it
there's something I cant read
or is there
maybe I'm just trying to read the scribbles
the scratches I interpreted as another language
maybe I'm looking too deep
maybe I should look at the road.
Copyright ©
Dane Roberts
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