There's a tree in a forest
somewhere, falling down,
and I know there’s no sound
cause it’s here in my head
and this road I am on
just keeps going and going
and means nothing to no one
but to me, in this moment

as I flow with its curves
and I count every stripe
to the headlights that aren’t
quite as bright as I thought,
I feel warmth in the speed
knowing wheels spin to logic
while my heart keeps on beating
for the non-monotonic

with crashes awaiting
for sleepers and sinners -
when neither are here
I am left the sole winner:
a dreamer, of sorts,
if you count for lost hopes,
a seeker of pardon
from the road, no one other
because people forgive
but the asphalt spans on
and it heaves as I breathe
and it just starts to burn
and it just starts to burn
when my eyes,
when my eyes,
they take in
the next turn.
This is not a pipe