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On an endless highway,
The tires whistle and blow.
Savoring stranded pebbles on the road,
Dust stirring up under the rubber.
Wobbling through the air,
Strings of Carbon Dioxide convolute,
strangle themselves in pores.
Pulsing with its own subtle hum
In the secret places of others.
Scraping behind the exhaust pipe,
The black melody struggles to sync with the cars.
Off key,
Mumbling in a heavier tone.
Tracing and trancing itself in the solemn notes.
In the morning,
cicadas will begin their inevitable relapse:
Wailing in place of the hum
That still lingers on.
Just softer.
As often as day relapses to night,
The artificial buzz will begin.
As though the cicadas’ hissing was only
Decades ago.
Now they too
Only mimic the howl of the highway.
No matter where I shy away,
Hug my knees to my chest and weep,
Or stroke my own hair until
the border between scalp and strand starts to seep;
Wrapped around the world, and my head:
The never ending highway.
Sometimes its soft,
Tries to cradle, capitulate.
Usually it's indifferent.
Continuing its long, drawn-out screech.
Some mold into the hum,
Melted into their cars.
An eye twitch is a switching of gears.
Their lips moving round and round the shadows of the song.
When they salivate,
A dark viscous liquid is what strews,
Helping them whisper in tune.
All the signs disappear at night.
No speed limits,
Or construction work to obey.
No deers in the road to stop for,
Just hurdling on.
Like waves on the ocean,
Retreating far back to crash on the rocks again.
A never ending cycle.
Easy to forget, ignore;
Easy to tune out.
In silence,
When the hum vibrates through my walls.
I open my window,
Let the m u r m u r s sink in.
I always fight it.
Bury my face into my pillow,
Cover my head and plug my nose,
click my tongue to tune out the sound.
I’ve heard enough of the cicada mewl,
I leave my window open.
Breathe in the murky present,
As my saliva starts to thicken.
My mouth tuned to a syrupy sound.
The cicada lowers to the artificial hum;
I find my lips stretching around
The sibilant sound of the cars on the highway.
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not_ian
first of all, i have to say i wasn't expecting this. none of this. i was expecting something good, but this is so well-crafted, so beautiful. completely excedeed ALLL of my expectations.
i had many ideas while reading your poem, especially regarding this "endless highway". so many questions, so many messages your poem could be telling us that i was really, REALLY confused -- BUT!! there are these two verses that, imo, give a huge hint as to what it may be:
"Wrapped around the world, and my head:
The never ending highway."
before those verses, i was thinking that maybe the highway was only about society, or even its systems. now i believe that the highway is something that exists both externally and internally. it's like a condition;; not only is the world an endless highway, but your mind is too. everything slowly but surely adapts to it, even if it doesn't want to. you WILL inevitably turn into it, even if you resist.
but why are sounds the main aspect of this poem? maybe because they are hard to ignore. even if you close your eyes, you still hear them; even if you think about something else, you will still hear them. nothing can stop it. also, it's interesting how, at the end of the poem, the speaker doesn't say "i'm turning into a car" or "i'm fusing with a car", but rather, they actually start speaking the language of the highway - using its sounds.
i like your poems because they are like a puzzle. you carefully place each piece, and voila! there are the main themes.
i sincerely apologize if i got something [or everything wrong], but i really enjoyed this :]
I love this interpretation so much!! Honestly there is no correct one because I never wrote this with a main theme in mind to begin with; even interpreting this very literally would be correct. I feel like such a bullshitter when I say that I really had no idea what this could apply to, just a vague idea knowing it apply to something else. I wrote this poem after noticing that from my room, I’m always able to hear the highway, and it always comes across as a high-pitched humming. Hence the wrapped around my head line, I always hear it. And, after writing this poem, the sound of the highway really has become impossible for me to ignore; sometimes it really does keep me up at night XD
by Xxscene_pantysniffer06; ; Report
“Vague idea knowing it CAN* apply…” sorry i forgot a word
by Xxscene_pantysniffer06; ; Report
ohh that explains a lot then!! but please don't slowly turn into the cars xDD thanks for sharing the story behind this specific piece. i find it beautiful how you managed to take inspiration from something normally no one would really think creatively.
also wishing you a quiet sleep LOLOLOL
by not_ian; ; Report