This poem was previously published on The Poetry Pub, on Medium. This poem was written using the cut-up technique during a road-trip. Cut-up or fold-up poetry is a form of found poetry that involves making four boxes and giving them titles, such as: things I can hear; things I am afraid of; things I can see etc. You then pick a potential first line and build the poem from the contents of the boxes, changing and reorganising as you go.

rain dots the windscreen
and I can’t take my eyes off
your careless handling of the wheel
steering us to disaster
or something brighter
we’re rolling along, racing faster
on a road to nowhere
it’s all pointless, all alone
death is coming for us all
the signs are faded
we can’t see where we’re going
it’s turning us into monsters
something new
but you can still free my mind
i can’t stop thinking about
how I’ll die
and what will be
the last song I hear
and as low black clouds
crawl in like greasy sweat
we await rescue