The rear view mirror showed the car on fire.
Metal no protection for burning flesh—
burning down to the color of the night—
a bright reversal reflected in white.
Maybe charred bone? Not hell. Neither heaven.
Police, EMTs too late to save the
tissues smelling like pan steak, fatty pork—
blood emitting its metallic compounds—
the burnt liver of organs— spinal gel    
a musky, sweet perfume less offensive
than wires, plastic, alloys, the circuitry
melting down every(all)things to its base.
He (it) never saw, tasted, felt the crash
coming from the back/front/side. But I did.

Woman at the well
Sitting on its borders
Looking down within
She fell, she fell

Buckets come, buckets go
Water is taken
She sinks down some more
In the well, for she fell

Meet her there
Halfway, all the way

Sweet pitter-patter,
The drumming of raindrops,
Lulling me gently,
To realms of sweet dreams,
And bright lights.

That soothing tapping,
Of raindrops hitting,
A freshly washed windshield,
Cradled against plush leather seats,
By tightly pulled seatbelt.

A loud crack of thunder,
Even sounds restful,
On the side of a well-worn highway,
Lighting the night sky,
Like a beacon of hope.

The sickly pitter-patter,
Of crimson drops hitting leather,
Contrasted to the beauty of the rain,
Trapped beneath seatbelts,
And bent metal.

Sweet soft drumming,
Of raindrops on my window,
And the ruined hood of my car,
If the lightning beacon doesn't bring help soon,
I am at least glad...
...to see one last rainstorm.

Sometimes I hear things when I drive
Most of the time it's car horns
Sometimes it's the screeching of tires on asphalt screaming to be stopped
I try not to focus on it because you shouldn't be distracted while driving
So I keep my hands on the controls
And my eyes on the road

Sometimes in the mirrors I see your face
Glowing faintly like some kind of ethereal movie image
Sent by a projector with a bad bulb
Sometimes I wonder if I drive alone or if you're there
But that train of thought sends my misled hands faulty directions
And I drift out of my desired lane

Sometimes I wonder if the voice coming from the speakers is yours
And if its the same voice haunting the air vents
Whispering lies into my vulnerable mind
I try to ignore them but it gets to me after a while
And eventually my glass house of bottled substance abuse and sustenance comes crashing
Leaving my hands to crawl on a broken field of glass and reanimated pains that slept dormantly at peace

So I staple my hands to the wheel
And glue my eyes to the road
And try my hardest not to cry and swerve into the first car or railing or tree I see
And pretend that face in my mirror behind me is just the trick of the light

I still think about the tree you hit
I never told you that we visited it once after you
But only once

I ran my fingers across the twisted and scarred bark
I studied the missing chunk of wood and felt nothing but an ache in the pit of my soul

I'd visit it again sometime if it weren't for the same reason I haven't visited you:
I don't know where to go.

Roads and highways and backwoods remind me of the cemetery you rest in
Each tree, each house, each street light and sign
All of it looks the same
Much like the gravestones creating the labyrinth you stay in

But if one day I do stumble across your grave
Or that tree
I'll bring you a grape soda and a blunt
And a Mickey Mouse for your collection
And we can talk again
Just me and you

Hopefully I get a response

Eternity speaks
will not be silenced
by shatter of glass nor falling rain

Eternity sees
will not be blinded
by flash of light nor midnight blackness

Eternity hears
will not be deafened
by screech of tire nor mourning's cry

Each fading pulse drops as rain on Eternity's Ear

Eternity waits
as I continue by
driving on to life undeserved

Eternity listens
to my stolen beats of heart
and borrowed years

while there, in that timeless place,
for two hearts now silent
Eternity sings

Here lies the body of Jamie McGraph
Who decided to write his own epitaph
Thinking a selfie might make it better
While taking the photo he took a header
Off the edge of a cliff into oblivion
"Came to a sticky end" the fitting idiom

It felt surreal~
Lights flashing through the cracking
glass and I
could only think to myself
“Is this it?”
It wasn’t
And I’m ok with second chances

Watch me fly