drive-time co-mute

i drove all the way home on mute.
i smoked half a stog' on top of yellow lines
and wrote a requiem in rhyme.

I wrote a requiem in rhymes
as newly-summer air whipped past,
a dirge for all my futures that never seem to last.

I thought of all my futures that will never last
and fancied them as emerald butterflies
who flitter as my fingers try and try.

My fingers tried and tried to pry
my conscience from the wheel,
but every way has a will from me to steal.

Every way forebodes to turn my will from steel
into softer stuff that cannot act determined.
I up my brights to scout the traffic vermin.

The lights reveal the covert crouching vermin,
it's the eyes that are the give-away.
Mortal lungs on asphalt breathe heavy like its prey.

Mortal lungs inside me, to which I am the prey,
Wheeze heavy with remorse and counter-culture rhythm,
I mourn the loss of future buried deep inside them.