Radio Head

Give up. The voice inside my head is a
Radio. Crackled and full of black, there
Is no going back now. I drive, through
Back country road, where tulips grow
I used to pick them with my grandmother,
There is no other path to take, past old

Friends’ houses, the nights spent awake
Pondering the existence of everything,
The car zooms past the beach, wet
Feet and jellyfish keeping me at bay, the
Water would wash away time, a new
Baptism but mine had happened at three

Days old, soft soul music thrumming from
The CD player, the songs I’d saved for later
Cropping up in the airwaves, once my favourite
Chewing gum, I don’t chew gum anymore,
My arms are sore from holding onto the
Steering wheel, I drive past fields where

Cows used to graze, they’re so empty these
Days, the seat belt glides cuttingly across my
Torso keeping me wrapped in the seat, my feet
Hard on the accelerator, screw those songs for
Later. Screw later.

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