It's Still Life

Drive On Drive On

A drive can empty my clapboard thoughts,
tumbling lines when I drift and drown.
I have my pencil. Paper. Always here.
You drive, and I’m your passenger.
Drive on, drive on,
hear those tyres, so lost in their hum,
they speak, associative preening,
it seems to me, and I’m addicted to words,
my perpetual pills, so
drive on, drive on.
It’s the simple things that bring you on.

“In the Zone” with Poetic Bloomings. Write about the place where you find poetic inspiration.