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April 2007 To Joanna. |
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Evening, always riding down the highways. Grey and pink and twilight – no such thing as stoplights. Roll the windows down and speed on past the town. Volume takes a right; dashboard clock burns bright. He sings along in tune to the steering wheel; the moon. And your hair (so like mine) flies when the highway turns to sky. The bass is so loud I can’t convey how hard it is for me to say, “Car rides with you mean more to me than I could hope to make you see.” Even if I spoke, you wouldn’t hear – just the punk rock blaring in your ears. But maybe you would comprehend how I wish the road would never end – because now, the real and perfect meet to your little sister in the back seat. |