High on the I-40
Been up since six no *** and
Fighting

****** in trucker motels, facing west.
cabbies lit, white plate gifts
for the barefoot women  
the wet haired

siamese, their black soles
From room to room

I could be a deity
I could be a ghost
and stay

to watch the sky  
to relish the exit music
I wouldn’t be jealous  

I am the traveling type –
an ambassador, a fog

the ledge of an open mouth, snug
fingers under doors

there is one for whom I was made

and another by name by
line by go on, goodnight

I could take all the showers
and still be alright -  

I would take all of them, and still be alright.