I was driving on the highway
at a skipping 70.
Singing along to 80’s top 10
phrases like“everybreath you take” and “total eclipse of the heart”
splurged off my tongue.
Waving out the last ember of my cigarette
like a star in a constellation

            I was drivin' back home after a
            10 hour flight and 1 week business trip.
            2 hours of sleep were guarded under my seat belt.
            The windows were down, the air conditioner was blastin'
            I was brakin' all the stops to stay awake
            Come on! my ****** eyelids wouldn’t stay open
            they kept slidin' closed as if 100 pound weights were clipped onto my eyelashes
            like those freaks in the Guinness world record--
            or something---
            focus.....focus.... slurred off my tongue as red carlights blurred
            and danced to a balletic symphony of speed.
                      

                        The Choreographed Cars All In Spaced Lines
                                               Flashed By
                        A Black Ranger Extended His Hand To a
                                                  Toyota
                        Dance with me?
                        The processed metals leaned close to
                        One another
                        Twirling their wheelings on the ground
                        Pirouetting
                        Other cars joined in
                        Tumbling on top of each other
                        Glass showered upon them like flower petals.

My cigarette was jammed into the dashboard
and the sirens of melodic ambulances
            were in my ears.

:


And all the fads function as the cyclic wheelings, more real than the lowest common denominators.
And that plain way serves only as an anchor to continuity, never as a true path for exclusive modeling.

There is only one truth
And it’s hard to
Remember

And the young
May dance
And sing

While [we] can.
  


This mean world makes
Meanies of us all

The stairs still splinter out dry laughter, muffled in the gloaming plaster
Hall -
Spackle-rough to the cracked fingers running along those century old idiosyncrasies
I, belly-hurt to the passage and the passing of it
All.
I return there from excessively average physical distance _yet from many dynastic   Wheelings of
Contemplative
Removal.

A broken thing
And
I, the faithless
Steward -
Throneless
Amidst haunted
Kingdoms of a dismembered corpse-god
And other short
Stories


With threadbare
Memory of
Patterned bedsheets crumpled in perfect modelposed gesture of blissful entropy, the
Nearby school stadium spotlights still send tower beacons into the mist of the night
The cars still slur by in the wet black
Crackle and
Hiss
Destroying the fidelity of other songs in
Perfect, humming

Obfuscation .




Void-fellow, home
.