On movement


The paths we take though a city are laid out in asphalt and stone
in side-yard fences 
in restaurants and convenience stores known and unknown. 

I drove down the freeway today, took the less-than-predictable exit,
one later than I'd planned - 
paused in front of a neon land laid out 
on the vertical white walls of the nearest museum. It 
cast a red glow like the firelight of the video installation 
in the next room over. 

When will I pass this way again? 

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