I.

It’s dark when you leave.

The engine of your car hums
reliably like the pulsing
of your blood in your eardrum.

II.

Fog hangs.

A backcountry detour
extends to welcome you,
but you’ve been here before.

III.

The road winds and weaves.

The pills should heal
the thoughts that are spinning
as fast as your wheels.

IV.

Empty fields sprawl before you.

But there is an odd comfort
holding you closely
in the familiarity of desolation.

V.

If the blackout was eternal
and your eyes adjusted,
would the sun never rise?