Routine

explanation kills the art

March had come and gone, 

leaving less beautiful than it arrived. 

And we still drive down the same roads we did 8 years ago. 

The ones of ordinary people

and ordinary cars

with their ordinary wheels, 

just spinning, spinning, spinning. 

So within repeated rotations, 

I felt a subtle sadness. 

This was a feeling that lived and breathed and smiled despite it’s own nature. 

And deep down, 

this was a feeling that wanted, so badly, 

to be ripped from routine.