OldTroubador's blog post - Six Dotted Lines

A chill damp blanket covering
Everything behind a curtain of wet silk
Billowing in waves passing
My truck like
So many random thoughts
An opaque cloak hiding
From my sight the trees on the side
of the road, landmarks
Everything looks the same – gray, formless
Eyes peering, straining to see more
Than the six dotted lines that cycle
Past, interminably
Taillights ahead appear then disappear
Then reappear; or do they?
Like a vague notion that never fully
Develops
Hidden behind that ephemeral shawl
Are the landmarks I use to mark time
And distance
But as I sit hypnotized by the metronome
That is the wiper blades, time
Has no meaning, location has no bearing
My whole world is a small circle of light
All that has been, that is, or that shall be
Is enveloped by a diaphanous wall
I am alone in this room
Sensory deprivation
Obfuscation
Alienation
Alone but for the treadmill of
Those six dotted lines