Travelling Lone

Morning comes with a rustle of plastic.
Whispers break intent and open sensitive eyes.
Zippers like small engines are followed by the release of light
through opened blinds which say its time to go again.

City names all soon sound the same.
Distinguishing as challenging as recording quirky traits:
a passing handshake, two kisses on cheeks, words that terrify
next to those with the power to enchant.

Carrying around a black bulk cancels attempts to sink into the passing crowd.
Paper plans, eyes do 360’s dangerously attracting the eyes of veteran tricksters.

Four wheels, 8, more. Carriages clicking through flatlands,
On through mountains past watered beauties
soon to be followed by dry hollowed out nutshells.
Faces known become strange and exchanged for new arrivals
which in turn fade out of view.

Thoughts mingle, clarity lost to confusion as refreshing as lemonade with ice.
Away from the ringing, plans can be scrapped and promises not made to be broken.
Dates are lost in satisfying ignorance.
with concerns tapered to the next Where? When? How?