it is not that i
dislike my job i just do
not want to go there

in the morning sun
my mother is fighting a
dragon with a stick

of all those dying trees
some look sad and
some look angry

passing many animals
along the way, not
all are roadkill yet

blood mixed with dust.
in the presence of death i wait
for a guy to take his shot

a shy sparkle of light shines
through the rain-soaked clouds.
only in my fantasy

yet again
the rain stops falling
precisely at 09:30 am

no work today
no work today
there's joy in repetition

the road looks so smooth
in the dark and feels
so rough under my tires

the fading colors
reveal a past
almost forgotten