Her trust in you is as good as an empty tank headed south
She won't use the rearview mirror headed far from you
What she leaves behind remains no concern to her burnt out heart
Eyes on the first exit out of here
The highway is her only vision, burying your bones
This is her farewell

Rows of angry red
eyes stretch endlessly onward.
Morning “rush hour”.

Summer rain, melting Arctics
and the lipids lining the nerves
in your brain. These are the metrics
of our times. Mere resolve

is not enough to take care
along the highway—you need wheels and prayer.
When you realize there’s no there there
that’s a scary day. End there.

August, the extinction is terrifying.
Quiet, too quiet. 100% humidity, not a single insect flying.
Summer morning, summer evening, sighing
the sighs of purgatory—grief without pain, death without dying.

I’ve chosen the safety of these mountains
and the beauty of their mists—such perfection
which anyone can have for the asking.
All you need to know is the names of things.

Conflict, coercion, war, strife.
Flying high in April, shot down over Germany.
Have a good day. That’s life. Fix yr brakes.
When I hit a pothole my fillings sing.

Anything’s possible, it’s impossible
to know what will happen until it’s happened.
You can’t know what you’re doing until it’s done
and even then you stare in wonder

unmoved yet moved by the stillness
a pure goodness, bone stillness, potential energy. You can practice it
in the city or the desert.
The wilderness or the mirror over your dresser.

My heart aches.
There’s no cars outside when it’s night
But my mind is full of traffic
I’m at the intersection what way do I take?
Take the highway to my soul
But there’s nothing but a black hole
There’s a dead end to my brain
It’s no use we must turn around
The only was we know is the road to my heart
The road is lit up, like a suburb city
But where there’s light there’s darkness.
There’s fear
There’s sadness
There’s regret
My heart aches.