When The Women Write Like Sylvia
It's the culture, not the women
When The Women Write Like Sylvia
Sometimes I sit and marvel at the newness
of all these things we consider inevitable fixtures
I am in my car on an overpass, two overpasses beneath me
This gray tank I need to go anywhere, do anything
Cars stretch behind and before me in a gridlock,
Each of us in our own worlds,
Just a few feet apart, keeping inside the lines