ahead, red eyes glare through the dark
as overhead, bulbs burn brighter than any star.
great wheels roll and rumble, beneath and behind
and the rattle and scrape of a hundred gears pulses away,
relentless; unaware and unmoved
by your restless writhing.

behind your eyes, that broken mind
and bleeding heart beat on and on
in stubborn time with some pretense of strength,
but that's gone too, you fear.

outside, the frozen tundra sifts
from white, to blue, to grey,
until the austere sky reflects
and swallows whole its solid self,
leaving wisps of winter dancing in its wake.

how long now til familiarity fades
and you might breathe some novel air and smile
at the shapes and sounds of things you've never seen?
those echoes everlasting might soon die,
if only you could feel some promise below your feet;
the world with all its weightlessness pushing back
from underneath.

Just in case

What if Eve, as an easy lable for YMRCA, were

the first wombed man with wit to make her will known,
vocally?

What if she could sing, and smile, wink and
blink and look away,

coy, from the crib.

She steals, so'ld say the tales, her daddy's heart, but not so fast

this is, say 120 KYA, as current model mortals mark time
since most recent common mom... walked balanced, upright...
I bet she could dance and sing... but
some reason or another, now

no offspring of any mom alive when YMRCA walked, walks now.

Not upright, ya sher... maybe eve was the only wombed man.

What if, any of that, but this is a strue as we may know...

all construed facts point to life being
struely
not as simple as a boom... though there are ways to end it,
as we say we well know,

we've seen the cancers... mental deranging during mind wandering,

we have heard the stories,
Hydes who remained,

but only Post-mortal Marvel has myths where Hyde is the happy side.

Silly, I would love to have friends.
But no stupid people, none un willing to use a word of the day
to escape a bout of ignorant rage

-- Brubeck, Sonny... yeah like the Sundance Kid's prison flick,
-- but Sonny was a first gen Jesus Freak,
with one of those, at will, eididic memory's.
He also owned the first digital watch I ever saw. I thought he was rich.

In a rage, Sonny once screamed in my hearing,

GOD WHY MUST THERE BE OTHER PEOPLE?

as orderly types were taking him, strapped to gurney,
to Camarillo State Hospital,
a truly beautiful place for solitary rememberence
of everything
you ever said or did. Like, the window of your soul

become the big screen, with no body projected there...

all around me everyone is not there...

then I see, I guess, this is a way that prayer was remembered as

Sonny slowly rose to re
ify a present with other people in it, but masked.

the last night we spent together
i was asleep
you had to park and walk because there were no empty spaces

the next morning i drove you to your car
and i dropped you off
and i drove back home
and i had absolutely no idea that was the last time

that was the only time that you ever had to park that far away
you always found a space up close
i never had to drive you to your car
only walk you to the door
give you a hug
and say, “See you later!”

it was weird
your car wasn’t even that far away
just in the next parking lot over
but i wish i could get those 2 minutes back
i wish there was an empty space
then maybe the distance wouldn’t manifest itself

don't ******* text your friends while
you're ******* driving and now
i'm this close to throwing your phone
out the window and into the highway so
put your phone down because
i'm trying to talk to you
and right now i'm trying to ******* say
that you shouldn't ******* text your friends
when you're behind the wheel
because you can crash and **** someone
and you're important to me
and i don't ******* want you or me to die
and if you're important to me then
i'm willing to spend my ******* time on you
and when i spend my time on someone
i'm pretty much just spending my ******* money
and you already know that most of the time
i don't have any ******* money and if i did
i would be spending that money on sunshine
and time to try and make us happier so
if you don't like what i have to offer
then i'm telling you to say ******* to my offer
and to stop being a coward and
to tell me how you really feel or
just get the hell out of here because
if you're wasting my money already
i refuse to let you waste my ******* time because
i've already spent years wasted on you
but you won't ******* love me back
the way i ******* love you and
instead every single time when
i want to leave you just have to pull me back
because you think that it's a great
decision to drag me along to
all of your ******* adventures with
all of your ******* friends and
all of your ******* boyfriends only
to ******* tell me that i never
really stood a chance with you
and that you just want us to be friends
but clearly you don't even understand how
to ******* be friends with someone
because if you ******* did you would be
talking to me in the car right now
and not texting your friends and
flirting with me nonstop and
i wouldn't have to be ******* remind you
how ******* dangerous it is
to text and drive.

Fast lane or slow lane-
A life driven from the backseat
Is equally sure to crash.

Jack brought his ‘work’ home after that first day away…his Trojan!
a 22 foot van chassis on the kerb, in Cottingham, outside, that first night.
And Mrs Ellis, number 49, moaned about her front room’s loss of light.
Bud, fascinated, transfixed, sat up front, jiggled with levers, switches and gears.
"Steady on lad… calm down you’ll ****** up the settings,
here, turn that off, flick this switch, push that button. Wow… *******, the roar!
Be careful, ease your right foot off - he shouted - No! No, don’t push it to the floor!"

"Now then…foot on that one, yeh? That’s the clutch. Now push the stick top left.
Ease your left foot off… no, no gently, slowly, else you’ll **** it"…
“******* Jack, we’re moving’ what’s next, what’s next?”
Jack crouched behind the driver’s seat and shouted step by step…
“Ten to two! Hold the wheel tight. Go on, left foot on… stick back… Yep!”
“Foot off, more gas on the right. That’s it. That is it! Tight left lock.”
They were off… along the road - left, left and left again round the big block.

“Go round again, go on!” Jack shouted”. Turn right this time just here, slow down.
“Let the engine tek the load.”
and, instead of just skirting the houses
they were off down the Beverley Road.
No cab, wind in their hair and not a ****** care.
The trees, with wind filled cheeks, and enraptured shrieks
all the blurred green whizzed by…
Bud was driving. He was actually driving, at fourteen!
What a feeling?!

“Mam… Mam… I even double-de-clutched!…
“Did he Jack? Did he?  What is that anyway?”
“Aye Mam, he did… He were just gradely!”