~ cracked compass burning atlas no sense of direction on a drive about the silent forests of the heart egressing from the shadows that hunt for us
foot caught on the accelerator passing escapism's plateau like a dissolving shelf of flashbacks kept in a glass jar it's normal to tire out wondering who will it be looking in the window?
the people at the wheel are not on the payroll they're pierced and sheer on the surface but their deepest parts still inhabit bone and slave for mere feldspar once again human thoughts turn to crystalline and still they shine for us
signs are posted: "a time for vanishing, lay it to rest" until the unfamiliar sound of the walls of Jericho collapsing breaks the momentum quiets the traffic
we entered a promise land on cruise control with too many exits and not enough things to see we did not end up where we thought we'd be those eyes at dusk in the rearview mirror they hunt for us they wait for sleep ~