sometimes out there on the ring road
when it’s spring but not yet warm
and the day is done but it’s not yet night
sometimes out there
when the trees are blind and
i’ve got myself untethered
from time and from the phone
from thinking even
and i’m there driving
with all the others
and we’re all driving
around sunday night and what monday’s going to mean
around the rows of houses and
all our lives lived back to back
through the months and
past the robin pert and standing
on the handle of a spade
around the pennies saved for rainy days
it’s all so fucking beautiful
this driving – all of us
around our inevitable descent into decrepitude
and sometimes out there on the ring road
my arms dissolve
the road goes blue and
there’s an ecstasy in the hum
and there we all are turning rings round being
vanished into the nub of what is left
before we’re born and when we’re gone
the thing which hides in every single thing and lasts forever
just turning circles around it
around the great plug
before we glug glug down into it
sucked into the ecstasy of everything

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