I look to the cocoon for support,

visible only from my sideview mirror.

I watched it glow grow

like headlights, approaching or not approaching,

clinging to me,

or not clinging to me , in other cases.

Nothing ever emerged though,

…in me either, thank god

Just time passed on the highway, sliding under overpasses,

and the constant dread that comes with

hoping the deer move away from the road,

empty,

hanging,

thrashing,

passing,

and still so attached, as a blur,

a mirage,

an ornament, eventually.

no one ever underestimated our complacency, that’s for sure.

no one ever underestimated our trajectory, that’s for sure.

all that rhythm and that tension,

all that synthesis,

that’s for me,

the cocoon can have the rest,

even all the fucking recollections,

especially the fucking recollections.