sometimes, the journey is not so much long
as it is hard
inclement weather, bad roads
and restless natives
slow us down
 
the month of january, being here
somewhat drizzely and cold
I spent alone in contemplation
of the nature of reality and whether
truth, in fact, exists
and if so,
where can I go to get me some?

spiraling thoughts consumed
while will-power took a much needed vacation
and the flesh, weakened,
caught up on cat naps
and other feline pursuits
dictated by mood
and restlessness
while internal rictor scales registered
shifting geography
in unheard of numbers

now february, being here, so far
sunny in the high 60's
I've been driving fast, with the top down
blaring a musical assault
on the wind
playing with medusa's snakes
seeking to cause no offense
to hapless pedestrians
I like it loud and hard
sometimes softer
but not in the car
in the car it's all screaming
guitars

it's not easy you know
being pushed so far beyond
anything you're equipped for
realizing, for once
really, truly, absolutely
you have nothing left to give
and you never should have
had to be so strong and
indomitable, so fucking selfless
in the first place

though you're stuck here
contemplating the circular nature
of thoughts that go nowhere
you're heart is already free
and you're still young enough
to hope for the life you dream of
the road whispers incessantly
to convicts, early released
but still...
there are the terms of your parole
to be considered

february, here, is a month of snow
hard frozen ground that holds the bulbs back
keeping spring in check
it's all in the timing
I guess

but the road calls...and I know
I'm going to be hitting it as soon
as narcisses fades from the hills
and valleys
of my shattered heart