The lazy lord
started to drive
to dust off the mental rut.
collected plenty of miles,
burned barrels of carbon,
meters of melancholy,
and some time.
songs were played in a loop
like tragedies in the movie.
roads meandered
and motels lulled the legs.
every billboard, town,
a deer on-road and snake on a sideway
were eager to tell a story,
to complete the silence of
conversations.
but the engine and the rubber Tyre
gave up on me, like we give up,
on our dreams,
under foggy fear.
The drive rejuvenated me
only for a while,
but,
eventually became a tasteless gum
which lost its flavour.
And — the ass retired,
the navigation of car and life
stopped
to a red-light of the eternal rat race,
horse-powering hurricanes
of silence,
again.
Thy Vox 
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