The Mile Markers Go By

You read the menu from the MacDonald's drive through from memory, 
While slipping down the interstate at eighty,
And nothing seems worth a stop. Yet thrusty, wondering,
If a cold Coke, sits in the frig at home, or has it been drunken?

Raido noise blairs in the background: Words and music mixing,
To form the static which alone numbs the thoughts of the brain,
Quiets the shouts of a heart drawn and quartered, and destroys
All sence of purpose, reason, time, distance, reality, and rhyme.

The little voice in the back of the head is the only thing,
That can get through the static and it weeps, and screams,
Is the sweet kind voice on the end of the phone really her?
Are the words on the screen her gentle Keystrokes?
Is this person, this woman, who stood before you tonight,
Unresponsive to that which you feel yet cannot voice,
Really, truly, all those wonderful things and more?

The clock rings out twelve, midnight, for the sun does not shine.
Or is it noon on one of an endless cold dark rainy days
Which your life, your passions, your voices, and your blaring music,
Has turned your reality into? And the mile markers go by.

				Gary Moore
				http://www.fortnet.org/~mis/wabbit.html