Waiting for my Tollbooth
Oh to lose myself in thoughtless thought
And lean back as the car steers itself into terrifying territories.
Oh to brake by drifting through vast and viscous valleys
Where enemies sing in friendly tones
And eye up my soul.
Oh to be a Milo with nothing better to do,
To pack the sticky scenery into ears, eyes, and lungs
And breathe in a Doldrum dawn.
To hell with watchdogs.
To hell with letters and numbers,
Rhyme, reason, and responsibility.
I desire a dawdle:
For a day without dreaming,
For when I dream, I am both the castle and the air:
A truth too strenuous for sleep.
The mountains make for the trickiest ascent
To eye-closing climbs that bash and break me to butter
At the feet of a Terrible Trivium.
Oh to stay in the swamp
And sing my slumber instead.
Even if it's the end of my journey,
I've obeyed the roadsigns and paid all my tolls.
It's my thoughtless choice,
My decision to die in the dark,
Dwelling on nothing.
Nothing to rue.
Thank god it's true:
There's nothing to do in the Doldrums.