We tell each other kind things. We tell each other hard things. Locked in the little box of the car, We tell each other things. Perched souls, We tell each other things. The world is trying to drive too fast. We don't want to be organised. Like clockwork. Little mouths that know the answer careless of us. This is the time — though no man can see — For people saying true things. There is no need for the alife truth to die And the lie to live This is the Time You own the words Thought to keep.
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Car talk is a thing, and your poem communicates it so well.
“This is the time… for people saying true things” stayed with me. I like how truth begins here in the small, enclosed space of a car, between two people willing to speak honestly while the world keeps rushing past. Sometimes reclaiming our words is the first way we refuse to let the lie keep living.