Here's some poor poetry about freeways that I penned this morning.

This is part of the special feature Freeway Box, showcasing my old life next to freeway viaducts.

I'm trapped in a box. My town is in a concrete box and sinking.
Everyone's hurrying.
They need to get by.
These walls are physically porous but physchologically they hold us back.
Creating dead spaces.
Wanted only by the unwanted.
Home only to the unhomed.

I'm imprisoned by a 'free'-way. And paying dearly.
Taxes, interest, insurance.
Fuel, parking, upkeep.
Count up the inconsequential costs: you're indentured to your car.
Going nowhere fast.
Getting ridden by your ride.
Exhausted by your exhaust.