So I drive and put aside the sailboat past
which only bends to the breeze
and never navigates to suit my beliefs.
Elevated by gasoline, burning in reaction
to the force I have implanted
with foot, bone, and drone of thought.
It happens with a quick release of blood and energy.
It’s unbelievable that I possess such an ability.
Why should it affiliate with me?
I barely even see the shadow people
lurking on the sides of the streets
eating their candy and delivering speeches.
“Just because,” I conclude
but that’s really no excuse.
Curiosity is customary when dealing with the imaginary.
So if you’ll excuse me, I will refrain from being brief.
Hallow testaments blazing the candid, absent “she,”
telling us both to slow our glucose stoves.
Like I could control.
If I could I wouldn’t.
I’m supposed to pose opposition
and compromise or challenge the convictions of my pale rider.
He breathes the subjects
I merely flow about the scenery
guessing the operations of his frustration
and feeling proud that I am in the known.
Tell me where it is you want to go.
The guillotine is fun, but I am hateless.
You’d better try another trick if you’re to discover my weakness.
Gold or love, which am I after?
A golden love is more adapted to my apt, clever ways of
A man without a mission
capable of saying it’s easier to think within the bounds of that prison
but like any other cell it’s still miles from the door.
Camouflaged melodies battle past the passing lane
doppler their cadences back and forth then south again.
Each one an undoubtable doubter
very sad to see themselves this way.
I’d describe them as agents without celebrity
or priests who’ve lost divinity.
Traded it in for stock
catapulted out of thought.
Churned up embers are stabbed, caught
and given a second chance.
My vehicle hunkers down and growls about
scouting out the situation,
posting sentinels in various positions and glaring dubiously
at an eight-sided sign.
Another mile, a thousand grand schemes
and a billion lodged, cemented bits of
sand, gravel, and tar
cremated as a sacrifice to rubber wheels and suspension.
I bounce along without suspicion or a change in disposition.
Yes, it does amaze!
It’s 20 degrees outside and my hands are freezing.
My headache is getting worse.
and this cigarette is no help.
Every street light seems to know my name.
Up goes the radio to drown out their gaze.
I’m getting sick of hearing my own complaints.
Whatever I try it feels the same.
Mimicking the calloused phrases and letting them float
so my soul can ride passenger
the houses are growing larger and getting horrible and wonderful.
My attention can’t stabilize.
Molecules of frozen air dependent on my warm breathe
take forms and shapes and summarize
the fragile nature of my affairs.
Propelling possibilities or potential like electricity
charged and sentenced surely
but always welcoming and often worrying.
Orange sways with solemn care, enough to carry me
persuade me, delude me to melt my champion cargo’s conversation.
I’d like to know what it is he’s really after
or should I say, for clarity
what it is that really matters
and end this ghastly fornication in time to fit my calculations.
You see, home is in my windshield.
Yes, I am going home.
To sleep and dream alone
pretend naturally that something else is occurring.
Stir up old rusty mannequin shells
and place myself in a timeless hell.
With a powerful hope manifested by my midnight ride
passing ambulances impregnated with kidnapped lives
and the smeared paint of a rainy sky
all designed to challenge the suicidal.
It’s idleness I pray for.
The idleness of one ray of sunlight on my face
when I awake
It would be worth all this to know it’s blessed gaze
and to wash my smoky lips
in the beauty of a god,
the beauty of a crime.