Because He Says I Should Write...

Write,
He says,
as the sound of my voice
as the sound of my voice
--the sound of my voice--
as the lull of the road
beneath my wheels--
stirring hypnosis
as the sound of motion
compels me to grander highways--
as portals to dreams
with distance between them.

Write,
He says,
as the sound of my voice
as the sound of my voice
--the sound of my voice--
as the rushing of water
through channels and ducts--
constant streamlines
heard from a distance--
inspiring to some
vexatious to others
persistently pressing the present.

Write,
He says,
as the sound of my voice
as the sound of my voice
--the sound of my voice--
as the peripheral clouds
of an approaching hurricane--
slowly swirling potential disaster--
obnoxiously clanging that
sea-shell-wind-chime
the neighbor forgot to bring in.

Write.