i was there and i watched it happen
the clouds danced
to the rhythm of the music
and so did i
they were chromosomes
tightly coiled
into dreams
i was laughing
laughing, and smiling and they kept asking why
but the only valid answer was why not
and she was packing up the bowl
and the beat was bumpin'-
then something
a direct hit
ouch
glass all over me just to remind me how fragile i
am
woe

Long car trips
Crowded with junk
And cramping legs
Flashing light streaming through the window
Into the muggy car air,
A trapped fly banging on the glass,
Low rumbling like gravel thunder
And bursts of shaking
Rattling teeth and seatbelts
When you roll over stones
Wisps of vented air
Curling around your naked toes,
And sweaty, rumpled clothes.
Skin sticking to fake leather seats
The slight sifting sick in your belly
Sitting fat like a toad,
And hoping the stuff in the back
Isn't shaking or breaking apart
From the crunching washboard gravel,
And drowsy eyes, tired from endless trees
Slowly drift until you arrive in the dark

Craggy rocks gasping silently
Thrusting up small trees
With fluttering leaves,
And dust rising violently
Studded with dry bugs

"I never saw the light of day,"
I said to her as she shed a shimmering tear.
She let it run down to her neck,
The same one I had touched with my lips
And was now bare.

I backed away and she grabbed my hand
She pulled my collar and put her fist up
To my chest twice, and one more again.
"All that was sacred, I let it die,"
She said, "for a good for nothing man."

I, for a second, was not alive,
It was a car wreck I watched from afar
And I could not kick the brakes.
I saw her cry but I couldn't say
How much I loved her when she cried.

I have got this  idea,
a stupid wish, a nonsensical desire
of being in a car accident.
Hear me, I want you to.

I prefer to be in the backseat,
seat belt on, and a frequent mannerism
of looking down, in front
on the driver's dashboard. I do that,
I always want to know the speed
and how fast the others outside this space
of metal and cushion. I don't want to be the driver,
knowing myself, I would not get myself into one.
I am a safe *****, that is all.
Then, here goes nothing -
I want the car to crash. I still haven't made my mind
on where or what are we going to crash.
Maybe a wall. Maybe another car. Maybe a post.
I want it to be something solid, but not alive.
Trees are the exceptions. I want the car
to kiss that solid thing, head on.

I don't want the pain that may come along,
I don't want to call it a near death experience,
I want that instant where -
everything seems unreal
or too real my head would not be able to
understand. I want that portion of time
where I decide do I close my eyes or not,
that moment that I will have my life question itself.
And I don't wish death I don't wish to live, either.
Just that moment, where I could think
how instantaneous life can be.
I want that tick of the clock
the clashing of realities and dimensions..

I want that moment,
I need to feel that moment of being just between death and life
where everything doesn't matter anymore, but I still know
they exist.

I have this stupid idea,
nothing so important, nothing so surreal
but to wish this
is the demand I am willing
to pursue.

sitting in the passenger seat of your car at 2 am felt more like home than any other place ever did.

Tuesday's got a broken hot rod
It drives too slow, or doesn't go
Tuesday's got a lazy day ahead,
has creativity at best
has no productivity
but many things to arrest
And she's not only a loner
driving on a road,
she just doesn't want an answer
wants to keep her glow
Where is it?
Not where she thinks it is
Not in the trunk
not in the birdcage with the canary
not in the pistol in her kiss
Where is Tuesday going?
Not to Wednesday, that's for sure
Thursday's daydream makes her
unable to settle down anymore
She smiles, the sun is setting
If only Tuesday could learn to fix
that broken hot rod already

A Volkswagen sinks in tainted ink
The purple bunny’s been painted pink
The hare is teetering on the brink
Of broken limelight square.

He rings the thing; it starts to sing
A duckling, suckling ****, goes ping!
A nettle stings the bunny’s wing;
The duckling gets no share.

A shard apart that scarred the heart
Ripped out the one who passed the start
And darting past her cart, remarked
Upon her vacant stare.

A stare so vast that sticks and lasts;
She’s passed the post, she’s missed the mast,
What matters most: what’s passed is past,
Surrendered into air.