Interstate Wasteland

Anu

Across this interstate wasteland
Dry riverbeds
At my back a cold wind
The sounds of motors and horns
The ruins sigh and sing
In the rush

There’s a room full of photographs behind me
Torn up and thrown away
So much refuse
Left to burn
Memories of buildings
A trail of dust

I should stop
I could rest for a while
The things I would tell myself
The light’s been flickering for so long
Fueled by our youth
It dims and fades

The wheels turn
air rushes past
and there is no turning back
I grip the wheel
stare into the black
and there is no turning back

Robert Plant’s “Big Log” in The Waste Land.