mrc Mar 10
i sat in the shotgun seat of your eyes
and they drove me to the edge of glory
the radio was up and playing a silly love song
my feet were on the dash
i was reading a collection of poetry
there was a soft breeze coming in through
the open windows as we rode along
trees passed in blurs but you--
you stayed in brilliant focus
like waiting for a red light to turn green
you were the harmony and the melody
the center of this galaxy
- just another mile
Julia Jane Mar 7
It usually takes about 5 minutes for me to blackout
while sitting on the black leather on the black tar
going 60 fully there but not quite fully aware.
This is my third autopilot and so far
I like her the most because she has the biggest eyes
though she sometimes glitches and needs to be reminded
that even at a beety red light there’s no need to
jot down an idea for a poem, or even world peace
(The two are not the same.)

So while the road lines melt into a
side swept long exposure dizzy photograph, but
like the ones that move in the Harry Potter movies
and I assume the books too, the books I would
definitely like but probably will never actually read,
the photographs like living live photos seemingly
sweet memories coming to life but in reality
a horrifying knock off of the fly on the wall
except this fly could be your late grandma
in portrait mode or an angsty teen musician
stuck in a teeny-bopper magazine poster, and
as I am seeing all of these animated flipbooks
I realize, just maybe, in another life I was
definitely a Cher imposter but with a
better impression than she herself.

Then a singing sea nymph and even those cursed by her,
one of Cleopatra’s snakes, stuck in a life
without limbs, let alone thumbs
but a mouth to devour and ultimately,
importantly, perfect teeth.
I am not fit to be a pet still though, to be forced to
always listen and never speak never fully
understood, except, not being a pet
doesn’t even mean I have done or
not done those things I am just always
done and not done, undone and now done
with this drive and unsure of
just quite how I made it here, I believe, alive.
Kim Essary Mar 7
The young mother weeps as she softly embraced her new baby boy.
  As he grows she taught him to crawl and next to walk, she taught him to talk and to be a big boy.
  She taught him respect and manners and right from wrong.
  Her battle began as he grew a little older she had no choice but to raise him alone.
  Feeling as if she wasn't enough she found herself instead of discipline she protects him at no cost and carried his blame.
  Which led him to believe he had no consequences to face for any of his actions.
  She now blames herself for the choices that he made she begged him not to drink and drive.
  Her warning fell short of reaching him only this time saving him was no option.
  He lost his best friend after a party on their journey home.
  The boys parted ways that night without ever saying goodbye for one went to heaven her  son was sentenced to prison and taken away. As his consequences are much deeper than his sentence, life without ever losing the memory of that horrible night is a sentence no judge can beat.
  For now she weeps for the day that she will feel again her son's soft embrace.
To my son, I love and miss you every day
Tate Feb 28
I need a car
Maybe it’s so I can run myself over with it
Maybe it’s because I need a beat up machine
That’s in as bad of shape as me
So that i know if i care about it
Maybe one of these days someone will care about me
Maybe I want a car because it’s less poetic and
I’m just tired of catching the bus

Kinda wanna get a car to run you over
Kinda wanna run myself over
Racing towards my future and new responsibilities
But flooring it to escape just that

Open road baby, in the smallest space I could possibly choose
Maybe that’s the whole point
I get to choose which way to turn
To follow maps or to get lost in buttfuck nowhere
I can take care of myself and replenish when we’re both running on empty
My fingers are itching to wrap around something
And This is the most legal option
I can stare at the road and not the empty passenger seat
I need a car to personify myself
Because I don’t feel human anymore
Coincidentally I got a car soon after
Mari Feb 27
make me smile
like huh yeah
   a smile forms in corners of-

  impromptu. You-
we say as
the self is
in the
quiet glow
of a passion
I know you saw it-
                      the flicker
    the key in the ignition
we're off
We drive into the sea to think
if only
in the
heat of-
  life constantly
dog rolls on
Life is
      the desire to dance
  and doing it.
Ben K Feb 14
I drive beneath the overpass
the final sign 396
Lincoln fades into the clouds
the horizon envelopes me

the hills bow down to rise again
the trees grow dense, a final stand
enter in the open sky
where sea and stone and flesh are one

.  .  .

as the open windows roar
sixty five into the night
flying gravel, dust, sweat
I check that I’m still breathing

like the clouds ten miles deep
block the million year old light
stars unneeded shine in vain
I am silent in my song
Ben K Feb 13
on highways, rails, rivers and trails
we cut open the prairie wild
to poison our mother and bleed her dry
blind to the consequence

these fine white lines confine me
on aimless, nameless streets

where fences hang from twisted crosses
crucifying pages torn
from our fathers' histories
we'd rather soon forget

these fine white lines confine me
on shameless, blameless streets

when cold winds come blowing backward
and freeze the spaces in between
will our children know have this earth
if we do not know mercy?

these fine white lines confine me
on aimless, nameless, shameless, blameless streets
Your voice is the perfect song to listen to on a road trip.
To view all the things that remind me of you.
Miles away from the stress of work.
Your voice, the open road.
Someone I can love, no traffic jam in sight.
The goosebumps from the air on full blast.
To feel love when no love is felt.
A broken down car with someone to help when something is wrong.
The air tastes different, miles away from the city.
A euphoric high.
Your voice a beautiful path.
My phone thrown somewhere in the backseat traveling a scenic road I've never been.
No track of time.
The thing about disease is that you never know until its too late.
It spreads. Becoming infectious.
You've become my relief, my cure.
Your voice like the breeze flowing through my hand.
Your voice the only other sound that could be heard outside of the car and the road.
I've kissed the air a thousand times over.
Driving pass my destination.
Listening to the sound of your voice.
I don't want to move from behind the steering wheel.
What's a couple hundred more miles.
You guiding me pass every exit sign.
Enjoying the ride
grace snoddy Feb 8
i envy the cars that end up driving south
the streetlights are tempting
and blurred buildings tell me
“there’s other ways out”
a handful of exit plans,
and empty destinations
that i am reminded once again
in this world it truly is every man for them selves
because if it were different
silence wouldn’t be the only company
as i drive absentmindedly
and hating every exit sign i see

maybe the thought of having no where to go
is more humble
than the thought of having no one to give you a place to be
Brent Feb 7
Trembling hands
             against circular grip.

Pieces of road
             reveal and disappear.
Pools of light
             raked with speed.

My jacket lifts with
             each heart beat.
Her invitation rattles
             in my skull.

Blood flows
body tingles.

Our bodies will soon
             be together.
Next page