four-wheel drive—

the universe is sobbing an overload 

of fat and juicy raindrops. the 

sparkling cobalt blue—cheerful eye

is clouded over with a dim drab gray

—emotionless 

but yet lighter around the edges—

silver lining.

silence— 

filling the car, crowding 

every crack not filled with

luggage, threatening to force 

the smudged windows open. 

burning, loaded, tense—

thicker than the fog outside. 

static—

thick and fuzzy, hiding 

sad lyrics in layers of code. not

as though a cozy blanket, 

like a deceiving disguise. 

the radio struggles—DJ’s 

laughs resemble an 

aggressive coughing fit—but 

neither of us change the station

—not yet.