Hall Poem by Rebecca Navarre

Shifting down to a low gear. Loosing
my grip on the wheel. Settling back,
the roads have cleared. Buckling down
for the long haul.. Turning my cell, off
call. Take sometime for me and all. Watch
the autumn leaves fall. And for sometime,
I can slip away, stall.. Letting my wheels
grip that hill, and crash right through
that, invisible wall.. Taking my foot off
the pedal, now. An slip, in an eight track
of, Tom Hall...