Love Sick Highway

A computer tries to
Write this poem,
But it is too rigid,
Standing still
Like a statue at the bottom of the ocean,
Sideways, carefully.
It craves the capacity to
Luxuriate in the randomness that
Molds us, defines us, offers us
But it has to be satisfied with
Instructions on how to
Find ourselves, and
Fix things before autumn arrives.
God, Earth, and the beginning of time areHiding, and not hiding,
As if we didn't know that,
As if a shade of what we want to be
Is good enough.
All it cares about it is setting us on course,
Helping us find an adequate road,
But always the shortest distance,
Forever avoiding dangers
And exquisite unpredictability.

© Poem Fix 2012
Photo by Travis

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