Car-ride
my thoughts are like
phantoms
they cross me darkly
rabid at this dull conversation
the monotony of days
with petty little word falls
meant to fill up air
I want to squeeze it out
more then the circular routine
pantomimes of meaning
I furrow my brow
and look out the window
as the colors of the day fly past
while your cadence carries on

Yep by me, the Corbyhawk herself