Monday, September 25, 2006
It Only Starts
IT ONLY STARTS
by Melody Davis
The American road is our art,
pure process of leaving.
Driving doesn't end. It only starts
as the radio feeds a secret part
of the brain that's always running
the American road. Our art
has no destination, though it departs,
and the eyes, never full, keep filling.
Driving doesn't end. It only starts
when the land curls under the car,
as though it were another way of seeing --
the American road, our art,
our music, our motion, our
world spinning by on a string.
Driving doesn't end -- it only starts
the drug of this country, too near and far,
where place is endless, beginning
on the American road, an art
of driving that doesn't end, it only starts.
Published in Poetry magazine, August 1997, Volume 170, Page 287
Start planning that driving vacation, maybe a trip through the Midwest to see the seasons change in the leaves, or a drive down the coastline. Take the family on a cross country RV trip or rent a car for that road trip of self discovery.
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