Mile Marker 114

2:30 in the morning
All normal people are asleep
Raining down in South Dakota
Driving up from I-35

Miles of Midwestern highway
Cornfields connecting towns
A lonely asphalt signature
Writing lines of indifference

Telling stories through the voice of
Those who’ve driven all those cold and lonely miles
So much of our own stories
Travel on these stretches of grayish, cracked pavement

Roads are meant to eventually
Connect one to another
Miles along dusty roads
Lost and found passing by
Yet another gas station’s sunset

One little green sign with a number
“you are here”
For all of about a second
Passing by again

Goodbye seems all at once
Maybe not quite the right word to say
Perhaps that’s what it means to
Drive thousands of miles
And never really leave home

Thank you to the road
Ashes to gravel, dust to the fields
Writing lines of
Children’s tarnished dreams

Up in the distance again�

One little green sign with a number
“you are here”
For all of about a second
Passing by again

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