East of NYC on the Freeway

flying feet above
the twisted tanked ground rolls
on and on and off and on
to the big one
the central locus
the time of departure
the cars and metal and music and noting
another 1200 miles and another bed unfamiliar
left to air rot in the closing of the evening
brake park stop ride break
the tolls are coming
expensive and left of center
cash hidden but paid
pocketed
no one notices
no one watches
inflated gas and drunkin' donuts
as we speed off into
the vast oblivion
of New York City