Publication 1160
By james777 on
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
at
13:41
Location:
Bolivia
Registered:
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Posts:
9
SearchQuote
I drove in black and white weather
When the season was nearly November
Driving through the newborn flakes
Of white, who fell through the mountains
And over the grey roads with an order
And natural precision- who eludes us-
And I wondered, at their simplicity, perhaps
They are like those million said things
In any life, every man can conjure, briefly
Into a momentary existence upon the windscreen
Of his own mind- before they too are wiped clean-
And yet, how the road always goes on,
Passing on through the rivers of headlights
Towards North Carolina or West Virginia
Where nothing ever moves but the traffic,
Always passing through the dim wooden diners
Of a thousand little towns- the black mountains
Dissect- And the woods preserve to obscure
Like a deep secret forgotten when one awakes-
Yet, I drove on wondering, until the road was no more.
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Driving through the Appalachian Mountains
