Decelerate after this
Pull the lever and lean your seat back.
Left of the middle I’d say.
Siesta with knees folded pressed up
always new leather that
is still as water is not
against the brash changing air an
inch out your window.
Stare stare down street lamps and foggy luminescence defining
dirt and streaks on your glass.
Stare stare down skinny canopies
whose leaves no longer bear
witness and fall to you in a pull,
plaster on your windscreen
collection of places once travelled and seen.
Stare stare down leaning scrapers
baskers bustling along brown bricks
crowds cry cheers in cacophonies
and you’re headed home on Harbour bridge.
Stare down days will you
see, the air never changes.
You are in terminal velocity.