we drive miles away
gravel road, interstates fly by,
she has a tattoo of a dove
on her hip, in flight
there is nowhere to escape
to, this road is littered with
road kill, a dead dog lies
two miles from a dead cat.
death covers death, counts
the miles to my own, exit ramp
she wants some air that
isn't stale
this air is never clean, this
sun is never bright enough.
everything is trying to escape
everything.
Ben Paynter
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/escape-39/
