It's the same familiar road,
Dark and slightly paved,
Toward which my soul drifts at nighttime,
Pulled by nearly broken chains.
Sleepwalking to find some danger
Where, among the chaos, it can feel
A little less like a stranger;
Around the blind side of a curve.
While I sleep, it finds a way
To - despite my slumber - travel.
Lying down, and replaying how
Life and death, seemed to briefly
Stop their battle . . .
And rest so soundly,
Sprawled out, side-by-side,
Strewn 'cross the roadway's gravel.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Each morning I awake
And to the same spot I've returned,
Lying next to my soul, in wait,
For a lucky car to make its turn.
I stand up, and spark a cigarette
-- click --
Just to watch the orange light burn.
I inhale the noxious gases,
As a car skids, and passes.
I start back home with a shrug,
And flick the ashes to the masses,
Burn some bibles, and break some glasses.
And as the rain soaks to my skin,
It corrodes the memory like acid.