planning out
a circuitous route
to travel today
four towns
spread throughout
this bland corridor
of central texas
one last night
spent haunting
this hotel room
then a slow drive
back to a more
familiar silence
in a more intimate
form of seclusion
a phantasm seeking
his own sepulchre
where the sadness
in nonexistence
doesn’t bother the
tired trucker trying
to get some shuteye
just the rats and
roaches skittering
in the quiet solace
of purgatorial sighs

i can’t wait
to not sleep
in my own bed again
three o’clock
in the morning
feels different
in a foreign room
the weight of
vanishing every
single evening
crushes the
wayward spirit
whereas at home
it has become
the normal routine