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Mikey Kania Mar 8
you are looking at me
cause you need it...  

i am looking at you
freeway of dreams
we become one
Today is a good day.
clever Feb 2019
and now you're upset
because i'm sitting in the
passenger seat of an infiniti
with frank ocean playing,
another hand holding the
one that you used to.

still, i want to be holding yours again.
too far, too fast.

We bow to our gods
Our demigods

Take sides
Give credit where we think
Credit's due

***** at the other

An exercise in hope
Despair, disgust

An act of rebellion
Worship, boredom

A little entertainment

Oh Holy Night is blasting
But it's business as usual

What did we expect?

The Donald's having another
Rad hair day

Merc is mixing up yet another shot
In the arm of the unsuspecting ignorant

Monsanto's engineering one more
Pernicious stew for dinner

World War Three pending
At Arm's Dealers Inc

A trader goes Kachung

A raven drops his doodoo

What did we expect?

Shiny stilettos go clack clack

A homeless man shivers in the rain

The guy on the bike gives ya the finger

Grandma turns on and drops out
Can ya blame her?

Another heart-breaking day
For the broken

A little goodwill
For the willing

Martin Lawrence sneezes
And we can't help ourselves


Charley Sheen loses his knickers
In repeat spin

Another bad news nugget
For the rag-mags

What did he expect?

The jingle bells jingle

It's tinsel time again
The gift can go bye bye in the mayhem

In this the season of high expectation
It's good to have less expectation
To worry less, to feel more

See what happens
Expect a miracle
Expect nothing

The gift
Ah the gift

The present

That is all
What did I expect?

2015 for the present
expectation, disappointment, duality, mayhem, bikes grandma, stilettos, clackclack, presence, gift.
mjad Oct 2018
Our song comes on as you hit the gas
75 on the freeway
You're going too fast
But today you don't care
You shout the lyrics
And play with my wind tangled hair
Brendan Roher Feb 2018
Quick, blockbuster ride,
Drive in food and fries
A café coffee with whipped, white lines
Around around we go now,
Riding a caffeine’s high-strung periphery
Sight and a strong sensory flight,
Going where the wind goes: free kites
Open window, downstream upstream shifts
And we’re riding next to other highway street shining glyphs.
A call is never enough to stop our rides
A high so high we see no downs
Here on our feet riding on tops of cars
With our hair wild, topping our heads like windy crowns  
We know our bass booms and sounds rounds
But you may not hear it long
For this freeway has endless bounds
Where we play these booming sounds
With no end in sight
On an endless night-
Boundless air flight
Alec Jul 2017
Look at all the people.
People just like me.
Look at the cites that are up to the stars type of full.
A-glow with their own universe of stars.
and love only compared to the embrace of two hearts.
and the strength of the animal trampling the one who grabs its horns. For they are but a red blanket in the eyes of the bull.
The cities that thrive and pulse with life, so much so that trying to take them down amounts to null.
But keep looking around, what other treasures could there be?
Do you see?
The grassy seas that roll and crash around our world
Look at the sparkles and stripes
Look at the lights
Look at the swirls of the sky
The paint mixing in with the setting sun
Look at all the different blue, orange, red, and purple dyes.
Seek the see-through walls of the surrounding metal boxes that weigh "so many" tons.
What do you see in the eyes of the people inside?
What are their secrets? What do they hide?
Are they agents or members of a cult or the so-called perfect family?
Watch them and your minds eye will begin to soar
Just from a little bit of staring past a car door.
Making them characters and you the creator of their stories
******* you through the vortex, forgetting all your worries
On the road
Heading to or from home
A smile snakes it's way onto your lips
From the worlds you can create when your mind un-zips.
Beau Grey Apr 2017
We threw a mattress
in the back of my car.
Some clothes.
Some food.

I packed eight books.
He packed a skateboard.

We drove along
the freeway
behind a car
the same as my mother's.

I thought about when she left
and all the tears I know she cried
driving away,
northward bound.

She drove for five days.
That's a lot of tears
and math
I can't do.

The driver had the same tanned skin
my mother has now,
and sun-bleached caramel hair
I imagine she would have too
had she not preferred
the taste of licorice.

I've been reading
the subtle art
of not giving a ****

and too many a-*****
I've given
about her leaving.

Let me record
the last **** given
in poetry
and move on.

So my love and I
drove on,

We're best together.
L Jan 2017
"Stop texting and driving! Thats illegal!",
I shout out as I speed
past a car
on the freeway.
Yes, I'm that one *******. Sure, I'm a little sorry but I'm also a little not sorry.
SJ Sullivan Jan 2016
2 fitted sheets, stretched and tucked atop each
other. A nesting home for soft bugs with thousands
of legs, in which you cannot see.
Why does it smell like Michigan basement
bathrooms, and size 4 feet in turtle sandboxes.

Painted, chipped, salvageable wood only shows
it's gritty teeth in the day light.
leaking through shower curtain rings on
the makeshift curtains like pool water
through the cracks in your smiling eyes,
blue goggles, the ones that cover the nose.

the longer you listen to the silence,
the louder it gets.
or is that the sounds of fan blades
ripping through the indescribable texture of
the stale air you swim through each night.

You'd swear you experienced a sonic boom here,
the bull whip cracking from over pressure. or is it
under pressure? I always thought that pressure
weighed like pounds and tons. I still don't
know if that is wrong.

I won't remember the sound of your laugh,
or the way you smell, or the clothes you wore
when we met. Like a good poet should.
But I'll remember all the things we forgot
to do together. All the times we spoke but
got too high to listen.

High, like the time I told you I thought
the trees and the sun were making
strobe lights for our long drive into
October. Flashing light in the car windows,
as we drove down the open freeway.

It's easy to remember the world
was made for us, when we are
alone, here, in this room, together,
like we were before, and will be soon
once again.
Find my subsequent poem.
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