it's hard to be cool
when you're driving alone
down the Highway
white-knuckled on the wheel
and a thin shirt whipping
against the ebony sky
as you hurtle helplessly
down the empty road
and keep going
and going
'cos you got miles
and miles
of nothing-to-lose.

static on the radio
headlights on indigo
jabbing on the highbeam
a morse code prayer
for brakes
for roadsigns
for a moment's respite
against the aching loneliness;
wondering if perhaps
the nervous flickering stars
were people like you
driving in identical cars.

you squint
into the fog of distance
half terrified
half longing
if round the misty bend
lies the coming End
knowing it's just there
but not quite when - or where
for surely It will arrive
as the Soothsayers had forbode :
that you are now 2000 miles
down a dead-end road.