WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.

Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb—
Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:

And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing—nothing at all.

One lone jagged stick,
Far below towering trees,
Broken from its home.

by Kendra Cook

Crawling on all fours, traffic drags its bleeding body forward.  
Men with collars of lipstick tap tap tap their fingers against steering wheels.  
Time slows, cars inch, passing hands find cigarettes, cigarettes find fire.  
Tap ash tap finds tap pavement.  
This is the unobserved hiatus of daily routines, the dreaded stretch of heaven that separates from and to.  
During such moments of inertia
thoughts drift through open windows
forming a cloud for bargains, regrets, wishes, doubts, prayers, and curses to perform cotillion upon.  
Faster, faster, so quickly now, oh, change partners, switch lanes, spin, oh baby spin, fasterfasterfaster, until differentiation is impossible, until drivers become one with this steel river, until minds make their essential switch that makes home a bearable punishment.  

Someone has broken down.  
Do Not Stop.
They are shunned from the sweeping mob of machinery.  Necks swivel in uniform towards this abomination, how dare they, how DARE they outshine our misery.  Perspiration works its way down backs and pools into leather cracks.  

Will it ever end?
Do we want it to?  

Finally,
regrettably,
the final exit, the last few feet of purgatory.  
We descend into the next inferno where we leap through fiery hoops of interrogation—
yes no it was fine yes okay.  
We are exhausted.  
If only we would have stopped.  
If only we would have hit the brakes and remained in our haven of anxiety and lust and confusion and endless searching.  
Our love affair with traffic can only last so long.
    So we make solemn promises to ourselves to appreciate tomorrow’s,
    to run our fingers along the satin thighs of the freeway,
    to plant a rubber kiss upon the ground.  

How tap long tap until tap five?