Subtracting Myself from the Census

The suitcase is heavy in a way

That has nothing to do with wool coats

I am watching the fuel gauge needle

Lean toward the right, a small comfort

The street lamps are just lamps now

No longer markers of where I missed the turn (Where I missed the turn)

They pass by with a clinical regularity

I think about the way you used

To count the silver change in the jar

Small metal circles that meant a future

But a future is just a word for

Somewhere else along this blacktop

The engine has a steady, dull pulse

That makes my chest feel lighter (Feel so much lighter)

I am subtracting myself from the census

Is it cowardice to prefer the motion

Over the destination itself?

A man could get lost in the logic

Of a perfectly straight line (In a straight line)

The air is thinning out as I climb

Becoming something I can actually breathe

No more recycled conversations

The paper map is folded the wrong way

Leaving a permanent crease across the coast

I will follow the ink until the road ends

Looking for a version of my own name

That doesn't require an explanation

Just a quiet habit in a new room

The horizon is a clean, gray slate