On the Interstate

the world isn't meant
to be explored this way.
to be seen only
as we move.
when we've run out of grain,
of rain, of room.
or en route to some other place.
through a window
racing against the sun.
dawn's colours dulled by tinted glass,
rain blocked from cooling skin.
the scent of summer coming
from an air "freshener."
towns reduced to blocks of trees
with names declared by highway signs.
the road to hell
is the road to anywhere,
paved in isolation.