Veins, veins,
length and breadth,
intertwined

beats to freedom
or desolation;
a terminus

lost on a circular.
An ebbing destination,
unchartered targets,

Follow the signs.
We are a one way street,
follow the signs

on software maps.
Stumped
by sequential lights

and us, caught
in a dragnet
within steely fish,

gasping for air,
choking on smoke,
bilious coughs,

hacking sputum,
gobbing phlegm globs
in interval gaps

within gridlocks;
nose to **** to
nose to ****.

The rage, the stares
the shouts, the finger,
the Grrr’s, the Rrrr’s,

the honks, the blares,
the bumper to bumper
expletive shares.

The rolling down,
the alighting,
the threats,

the fighting.
The falling down,
the separation,

reseating,
the rolling,
the thunder,

the trudge,
the stops, the starts.
Follow the signs,

follow the signs.
Robotic conveyors
for humans,

mechanical
fossil fueled
chariots,

grumbling, grunting,
wheee-ing and
screeching,

and screaming
and spewing
and chuffing

and guffing
black plumes,
air tarred,

veins, veins
clogged and bogged,
viscous, molasses,

liquid black blob.
Road fogged,
numbers logged.

Veins, veins,
follow the signs,
slow crawl.

Veins, veins,
follow the signs,
follow the signs,

sprawl.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

Thursday nights are one of my favorite times
Ever since I crossed the license lines
For then I get to drive a car
To the house where violin lessons are

Little 07' blue cruiser with only me in it
On pitch dark asphalt, I'm pushing the limit
I call her blue puma because citrus is taken
Three cross-country moves later, and only a little shakin'
She's not really mine, but actually dad's
But with two newer cars, I'm the one at the brake pads

It's a school night, but the radio's blarin'
Playing rock from Green Day to John Lennon
In bell bottom jeans, a tee, a faux leather jacket and sneakers
Windows rolled down, hair blowing in time with the speakers
And under fall moonlight, it just seems
This is the closest I'll get to the American dream

Through another storm
I worried,
but your mother is fine, and
you're still not coming back.
It's a drive I can't make, by morning.

Dogs bark, you disappear.
I annoy you with the
same two low notes.
One stinks, the other screams.
And I can't play piano.

Are you there Nate?
It's the wagon driver.
You left the back open,
or I forgot to close it.
Either way you're on your own.

Were you God, Nate?
Or just some gorgeous ****-head?
If they don't have a bed yet,
tell them you'll take the couch.
Tell them I'll take the floor.

My blood pays by the heartbeat,
with my veins in rebellion.
Bleached is my skin and I'm
sold in pieces,
to the dust, to the dark, to the smoke.

Nate, I cry about it, every single
ride to work. I beg the cars in
front of me for your life. I beg you,
for mine.

EVIL rides in SUVs with the windows all blacked out.

HONOR                drives a plug in car that leaves no resdue behind.

APATHY rides in secondhand Nissans with the clear coat
                                flaking off.

CELEBRATION rides in limos with open tops for standing up in.

TRAGEDY            rides in a long black hearse with all the horses
                                under the hood.

BRAVERY drives a bright red Moped that cuts in and out of
                                traffic.

POVERTY must ride the bus in a much too long commute.

ARROGANCE drives an escalade that’s the fourth left turn on a
                                yellow.

BOREDOM drives a station wagon missing the left rear
                                hubcap.

PANIC        races in the family car where panting and blowing
                              isn't helping.

HAPPINESS       drives almost anything with a baby in the back
                              seat.
                    

MACHO ­       drives a Ford F350 with wheels even bigger than
                               his ego.

MELTING *** preens in a souped-up Chevy that dances like a
                                hip-hop star.    

PRETEEN       rides a bicycle and dreams of a Mustang.

YOUTH      hauls *** in a Jeep Wrangler with the rag top
                             down.

MIDLIFE CRISIS  rides a Harley in a group of seven on weekends.

OLD AGE    drives slowly in an ’83 Chrysler Imperial that
                           won't fit in the parking spaces.

LOVE   floats along on hopes and dreams and has no
                          need of wheels.

ljm

Shocked and Stunned

When that day comes

Your chances to repent are gone

Wishing you had done things differently

Standing in front

Facing Christ Jesus at the judgment seat

The Great White Thorn, with your planted feet

No escape on what lies ahead

Because you did not believe, sincerely

He tells you to depart from me

I never knew you

In hell, you will find yourself to be

Burning and suffering for all eternity

Every second you lived the day was a new

This is true

You chooses and refuses

To listen to the message

To change your ways and your views

O how my heart goes out to you

How I pray that your eyes be opened

The pride of your heart is broken

That you will look at your life and its course

You might have money, cars, and girls

But you are stuck severing this world

Pleasures of the flesh is your focuses

Departed from God

Not obeying His Word

Like a blind bird

Don’t know where to go

Home is lost and the horizon is a blur

This is not the life you deserve

Come to Jesus today....

YOU NEEDED THAT COMFORT DIDN'T YOU HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP UNDER ALL THESE OVERPASSES WHEN THE CARS DON'T RUN LIKE THAT AROUND HERE TELL ME HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE EVERYTHING YOU SAY WITH A GRAIN OF SALT WHEN I'M TOO HOPEFUL FOR THAT **** WE BOTH KNOW IT GETS DANGEROUS I HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND FOR HUNDREDS OR THOUSANDS OF YEARS BUT I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT "STORAGE" AND MEMORIES THAT LIVE PACKED AWAY IN THE ATTIC AND ON GOD YOU CAN'T BLOW DUST OFF THIS ONE LIKE THE REST