I pressed my clocks against the sky
Timing the choke before thunderous cries.
The storm is coming
And I'm becoming weary.
My eyes are straining from not seeing clearly.
I nearly hit a tree
Made of light that branched out from the clouds,
Illuminating details of a shrouded past.
I had reached in the bag of goodies
And sampled the stale cookies
Made soft once again by the moisture of tongue,
Memorizing the texture
Of sugary crumbs.
It found my blood
It found my heart
And started syncing its patters
With the things that once mattered
In keeping my chest warm.
I lost the wheel,
And I closed my eyes,
Regretting the roads filled with potholes and ice.
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