i don't even know, man.

one single line dangles from the exhaustion pipe
extending out the rear of the car.
one single face speaks that line.
“where do we go,” it says.
we may never know.
one single line dangles across your walls,
in the room where you were born,
in the places where you dwell.
it asks you where you are going,
but you could never answer.
you’ve never returned home.
one single, dense line protrudes from your mouth
when you try to explain yourself.
will you ever know how?
it asks the questions for you,
you guess.
you could cut it, or burn it, or cherish it.
you could also, also welcome it.