...at times it just makes sense

Rainy nights are always inspiring of rainy nights.

Driving
on the shiny wet black highway,
watching wheels watching wheels glide
over the shadows from
red tail lights
and the
orange street lamps stand alone,
side by side by side.

It is cold. Quiet,
except for the uninteresting DJs on the radio reading tales of unrequited
love to go with ballads of pining
fornication
and the
soft sha-sha sounds
of the passing vehicles passing vehicles
that may explode
if they grow any little
bit louder.

It occurs to me that the drive will never really have to end
if I don't yet want it to.

The bloody
broken
lines in the
middle
of the roads chasing each other,
destined never to
catch up
with one another, chase
each other.

So, who do you think of, on rainy nights like these?

I cannot think of anyone in particular,
except
maybe that Charles Bukowski guy,
there's only the rusty-more-rain-harbouring-sky.

(sneak.)