Audible Lines

I

I am

I am the Road am I, the roadsong sung on high—

         potholed, stoned. All dangerous curves and black ice.

         Miss Rock ‘n’ Roll Roadkill at your (next) service.

I am the shoulder you cry on for the one who left—

         or stayed too long. Now so far away. Destiny and ley:

         a lay in the distance or some future happenstance.

I am all pent up with pentameter and spent kilometres—

          you know Who. The Great Grey Serpent with a misspent

          youth of feckless, reckless acceleration.

I am an old typewriter ribbon unspooled, indigo ink spilled

          like sperm, a semi-permanent spot on the horizon—

          a vanishing point of no return. 

I am the Mercurial One always going somewhere.

          Your possessions will pass you just south of here—

          though better to be Possessed than to owe on “Paradise.”

I am the Blues tone. Bluestone and bitumen. (Bitch, you mean!)

           Momentum’s nine-tenths of the law. Your secret flaw,

           a needle to the red, the thread, tread, and trouble ahead.

I am the highway sign assaulted—peppered with pellet holes

           and menace, the rock that slipped, the fallen eucalypt,

           a guardrail you clipped.

I am the reverse camber, the perverse camper, the fatal

           distraction or cheap, roadside attraction, the neon

           greasy spoon, your favourite mixtape tune.

I am the hitcher’s uneasy currency, a pearl necklace

           string of places, and a million half-forgotten faces

           in deadly, high-speed chases.

I am the way to Curio City. Curiosity: what’s your rush,

           Driver? Voracious Striver? You devour my towns

            like a Pac-Man! Pull over and check out the scenery.

I am the high way, the road you decided to take. It was I

           who kept you awake with my audible lines.

           I am the Road am I—come with me, Ami!

I am

I