Burnt
Screeching,
Reaching
For the brakes
Nowhere to be found.
Outside the half-rolln' window,
Passing
In a blur,
Greens and blues
Like run-together watercolors of
A blender-blown Monet,
Life
Marches
On.
But passing Go,
I'm on a roll
Winded and blinded
Momentum,
My own.
At the wheel
Still screeching,
Reaching
For the brakes.
Oops.
Wasn't
That
A Stop Sign?
