on the road

if trees melt into the tarmac
and the fields fear the cars that never touch them
it’s because the sky is a liquid mirage
forgotten over the lives of other people
that are piercing my voice.
it’s when I let my gaze go violently off the road
against my thoughts
that i long for the life of electricity pylons.
give me the shadow of movement
and the nomadic yearning,
the peace of knowing that all conflict is permanent. 
give me all the portuguese landscapes you’ve got
i’m in need of a self portrait of sea and mountains.
i’m in need of the sun to light up my dizziness
like an unashamed cloud
growing over the reflection of my fingers.
let the bus be driven deep into the atlantic winter
we call home

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