She falls asleep
in the driver's seat
of her car as
the light post falls
across the windshield
making my shadow fall
on to her face
(is that my nose;
are these my hands?)
I write these
lines
on
some phone
that isn't worth the plan it requires.
We have so many ways
to talk,
but communication
only seems to run
like a kitten.
The 21st century,
we made it,
but i have no ******* clue
what we made.
I only know that i
can't be
in this
passenger seat
as she sleeps,
but we can't stop *******
so
here
we
are.
Wanna watch us go?
No Wordsworth or
Keats or
Brownings tonight,
but Eminem makes me shed a few
as his rage is piped through
the blown out speakers.
I'm not supposed to let the battery
die,
but i'm also not supposed to let myself
die,
so neither of these obligations make sense.
I've already given the world
up,
bur for some reason
it holds me
closer than she does
when she's wearing my sweater,
smoking my cigarettes.
So tonight i can't sleep,
but i know i don't want to wake
anymore;
rising from a pillow
only gives rise
to a fall within me
that's deeper
than the breaths she takes
when i'm inside her.
There's a hidden history of suicides;
i hear that
thirty some-odd Koreans just joined the club
tonight, but someone
seems to have misplaced
my membership card.
Still,
i know where a few homeless men sleep
and i'm willing to be
that if i gave them
the thousand dollars left from my college loans
they'll show me the initiation rites.
Would she understand
if i went from being inside her
to being outside the universe
in the same night?
Do i care?
She's just another
American Redhead
who wants something i can never give,
(unceasing pleasure and adventure)
so i guess
the only reason i'm here
is that i can't promise
she'll be happy
witout me
(is that really my breath on the window?)
Somehow i want to believe that
this means more
than the apple tree
we're parked under;
more than
the trailer
she sleeps next to;
more than
the street light illuminating
her face
as gently sleeps
in the driver's seat,
and i
stay awake
and write
from the passenger side.
Copyright Nygil McCune, 2010