(drive)

When the day starts
to lag I drive
to the p.o. in my
red truck.
Just to have the joy
of coming back,
of seeing the view
as I descend toward
the lake. This view
I never tire of,
something I require
in where I live.

Like that stand of
trees on highway 1
leaving Monterey

I leave just so I
can return,
to get my daily dose
of rock and roll
as well,
to feel my body
leaning into the curves,
of the road,
a small afternoon dose
of what I tend to do
in big ways.
A kind maintenance program
to keep the thing
from getting out of
hand.

A sort of claustrophobia
comes over me
wherever I am,
a restlessness which
seems to demand its needs
be filled.
It does not work merely
moving about from room
to room, nor dancing
until I am spent.
But driving to the po
seems to do the trick,
and holds my life
in place,
i leave each day
just so I can
come back.

2//12/99