This one doesn't have a title yet (it might never). I approached the assignment of gasoline in a rather literal sense, using the car as a metaphor, in the traditional American fashion, of freedom. This one is a Road Poem of a sort.
Dusty road stretches to infinity
Route 66 blacktop, cracked and
Faded yellow lines vanish
In the distance, ahead and behind.
A blinding blue sky above
So sharp, like a straight razor,
It cuts eyes behind dark lenses.
Pavement below, rubber and road meet
Does the car move along the road,
Or the road beneath the car?
Does it matter? The rush is the same.
Wind whipped hair flying,
Laughter and freedom merge into
Ragtop dreams of speed.
Flying without fear,
Burning distilled dinosaur juice
Along a deserted trail, straight.
Last stop, gas and water,
Next stop? Beyond the edge of view
Somewhere in the distance, a place
Known but unseen, waiting for them
To arrive, below the horizon,
always just beyond the limit.