Ain’t that the truth – revolving
door spin, following you towards nowhere
the sickening tilt of highway hypnosis
the lurch of ground beneath my feet
skews the definition of solid – what does it mean –
to fall, hard and fast
as if there was any other way
to make my voice sound like the wind
skimming over the ground off a barren backroad
where the tires spin tracks
and I keep waiting for a red light dashboard
but I am only ever home
and bound by a suffocating stasis

sometimes I’m scared if I look away for too long
the mountains will move again
and cars will plunge over the cliffs
and rot – if I told you
about all the times I’ve felt closest to god
you would notice the common thread
this is just another three-month cycle
of greeting death around every corner
noticing the way I am disappearing
why do I only feel significant
when I am small

I think about animals that live in the desert
and come out only in the darkness
there is a flood coming
rolling up and down the coast
and I move towards the center
it will take a long time
for the waves to reach me here
maybe when it hits
I’ll know what it means to not feel thirsty anymore
until then I’ll make peace
with my futile devices, restructure strings
until the universe matches my vision
just know that when I say
I will die if I think too much
I mean it.