On Heading South
I wake up, and we’re in New York.
I wake up, and we’re in New Jersey.
I wake up, and we’re in Maryland,
but I can never remember falling asleep.
We’re doing eighty down a roadway
paved with nightmares and dreamscapes
to a rock and roll soundtrack
that fades to static in the digital dead zones.
Caught somewhere between sleeping and waking,
between leaving and arriving,
nowhere looks quite like home,
but you can never be too sure.