La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

i have been wandering the highways surrounding chicago tonight as i sometimes do when i cannot sleep. not many people were out, and perhaps the most interesting images came from the sparks from the red and blue lines. there's something extremely vacant about eight (or more) lanes of highway practically empty--driving hardly cheered me up. not even the sight of the snow plows preparing for the storm was welcome.

all day i've been wondering about complexity and how to foster it in my poetry without pushing the reader away, and i think the drive was partially to escape my own mind. i'm still here though, with myself and my sleeplessness.