Life At 70 Miles An Hour Poem by Dwight Jenkins

I am just a small part of this larger thing we call 'life, '
A collection of old stones from a foundation
Long overthrown, and now overgrown
With life of another tone.

I used to think I owned one of my own, a life,
Like the dead home I just passed so fast,  
In the travelling blink of an eye.

I have no windows, no roof, no walls:
I am open to all,

And I can feel someone expertly pressing
Fresh mortar between my bones.

I am being rebuilt from the basement up...
@ 70 Miles per hour.