Morning Drive

[“Driving Poetry” – a genre of poems dictated into my phone while driving. I don’t think it constitutes an actual genre.]

A face that’s lost among the crowd / another in the mass of men / and when I lay down in my bed / I hope that I won’t wake again

The many miles should’ve spanned / the sleeping dogs that I let lie / when I lay down upon my bed / I cross my heart and hope to die

The world that spun out of control / the life that stopped ere it began / the hope I could have forged if I / had only really been / a man

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