on a road, with no where to go

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i see across and see the faces
(they stare and haunt, like gaping toothless voids,
they are distant, they are distinct.
they are like the vacuous nightmares i've felt all my life.)
i listen and hear (the subtle distinguish--
extinguishing--
familiarities of the two)
and i find myself.

on a road, with no where to go.
i've been here and played there,
i've been around for a million centuries and more,
and by now, this (this rotten, gotten--beholden) feeling i can
nearly ban
from myself (psyche) and made distilled. it is almost
in what feels like not-quite
gone. but soon, i will get there. even though--

i am on a road, with no where to go. i can still
imagine and believe
and coax my dementias into force-bending
that this road will end,
will lead lead,
somewhere.

anywhere.
even though i am on a road, with no where to go.

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