on the road
if trees melt into the tarmac and the fields fear the cars that never touch them it’s because the sky is a liquid mirage forgotten over the lives of other people that are piercing my voice. it’s when I let my gaze go violently off the road against my thoughts that i long for the life of electricity pylons. give me the shadow of movement and the nomadic yearning, the peace of knowing that all conflict is permanent. give me all the portuguese landscapes you’ve got i’m in need of a self portrait of sea and mountains. i’m in need of the sun to light up my dizziness like an unashamed cloud growing over the reflection of my fingers. let the bus be driven deep into the atlantic winter we call home