Average citizens, truck drivers,
\nand minor motorbikes travel aside,
\nwe drive aside
\na never-ending sequence
\nof electric Eiffel towers.<\/p>\n
Who has built You The door handle gleams but, disingenuous, Who has turned down the heating? Worn tapes have lost the voices My eyes are trapped inside the spirals, Who has designed the bed You look ahead, and I Before I can scream Maybe we will never understand
\nthis world of excited needles,
\nthis universe of silence?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nand I
\nboth comment on that house
\ntrapped within the median,
\nand make jokes
\nthat nobody will laugh at.<\/p>\n
\nI pretend I’m not looking and instead
\nwatch the lamplights go by above my head.<\/p>\n
\nWho’s been drifting?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nin and out of them. But the buzz
\nand the murmur and the murmur
\nof these all-thoughtful engines is continual.<\/p>\n
\ntanned from the orange suns of midnight.
\nBlack men seem so suddenly attractive,
\nthey call me to their yellow signs, the roadside.<\/p>\n
\nof this river in which we’re carried?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nam falling half asleep and into hoping
\nthat all speculation will vanish like pollution.
\nThat won’t happen.<\/p>\n
\nthe yellow helmet’s broken,
\nand a red nightmare has barely started
\nto cover half the road
\nof the new highway.<\/p>\n
\nthat objects in the rear view mirror
\nmay appear much closer
\nthan they are.<\/p>\n