we like to let ourselves in

i confess, truly, what i cannot abide
is that petulant refusal to make an allowance for the others driving with you on the highway.

what i cannot understand is the lack of sense
that drives one to keep coming, up and up and up the shoulder, to the point of collision; to mental wrecks.

we all have to merge. we all have to coalesce into one long line. and then, we've got to do it again. and again, and again.

who do you think you are? why do you feel yourself so alone?

i do understand, and take with value, the prospect of penchance for keeping private and guarded; for not letting in, principally, out of rational and only rational fear - provision - of and against that which may come at granted openings. that which may wrench, and pry.

you have to drive defensively. you have to live defensively, your heart lustering chrome. you have to treat yourself with great care, and imagine that you cannot imagine too much, lest you forget and lest others not forget.

anything could happen, if you're not careful. please, do let your fender fend for your self.

but when we are driving, we are all equal. we cannot assume everyone crazy, lest everyone turn about and assume the same of us.

there is a basic, courteous assumption, without question. without answer.

we all are operating great hulking machines, which are very expensive and which bear enormous physical power.

we are all equal. and trucks, which are not equal, should surely not attempt to make themselves manifest into the leftmost lane.

it is the same with doors, and with people. it is in the act of not asking "why are you here??" but instead celebrating "you are here!!"

you are here! come in, be with me. let me allot to you what i hope will be given around to me, someday. let all of us join together.

i would let myself in. i would! but i must necessitate to ask you a question, and you ask me...

let me let myself in. let me let you let me in. let us all, with grace and joy, let each other; let us all be in on it, to win.

let us compete, together, with the path and its trials. let us commune with the sense of (yes) the miles.

how lovely an idyll. our beautiful line.