Rattle the cassette
with the biro etched “Car Mix”
grab the keys from mum’s bag
“Fill up what you use!”
“…Ok, can I have a fiver then?”
scuff to the car in unsuitable boots
slump in, adjust mirror, checking stupid fringe
which then existed
snap in the tape so the first bars
of G-Funk, grunge or B*Witched pulse
then it’s off to pick up
shotgun

that orange smiled

from the open hands
of the trees

it danced
and rejoiced
when it saw the good - there -

the ghost, from this past rain
began to wallow
and whisper to me

look at
look at
look at
how happy this all is

it had stopped now
- of course - what was new
of something meant to pass, but I didn’t worry,
it was all okay

I looked at the sky, that

orange,
and I said to myself

look at how happy this all is

He is the full moon

my eyes they drift up

from the two white lines

just a moment at a time

a flirt with death

a touch of gravel

He is the full moon

my eyes they drift up

from a parked car

an hour at a time

I’m late again

a touch on my arm

He is the full moon tonight

but he will wane

he will shrink

his love will weazen

I will be left alone

I will not be whole

She is my new moon.

Go where the road untangles and unfurls
by those cliff side views over those blue curls
lit only by those high beams off those white pearls.

Only sense of direction is the road ahead
no going back just only forwards instead
as going prevents drifting to the sea bed.

The white sea foam crashes amongst the shore
those high beams persist only for Salvadore
the light bends around the corner then no more.

I hope every day
brings you as much joy
as you felt riding down
that Florida highway.

I hope you can drive
with the windows down,
sunroof open,
a convertible as safe
as your recurring fairytale.

I hope the wind
blows through your hair,
the humidity feeling
like a warm hug
from the clouds.

I hope the music is loud,
and you know every word.

I hope you’re present.

Driving 90 miles down the highway at 3am on a Tuesday
Night
Hair flying in the backseat radio blasting at 30
the future is bleak
And the past is dreary
18 years old almost on the edge of 19
Emotions seem unbearable and other times weak
Nothing is ever alright I just sit in my room
and imagine myself grown over night
I cant pretend the future isn’t scary id be lying if I said that
I act a 1000 years my age no one understands that
I don’t know my purpose The search might take my lifetime
What happens when the lights go out ?  Am I in heaven ? Am I alright ?
To say I have worries is way over my head, anxiety creeps in while I’m laying in bed
Is it wrong to think I’m meant for more than this life ?
Think positive think positive I’m trying cant you see !
The more I think positive the more unfortunate I believe

New Job.
New Drive.
New Interest.

It's all so new,
yet so-so familiar.

All there is, the heat -
encased in a fireplace
or a furnace.

Smoldering,
the ashes
never filter through
these windless lungs,
instead of oxygen
the flame kindles
on anxiety.

Life is going splendidly - no hiccups -
Breathing is easy
but all that rushes in
is the flagrant blossom
of ragged thoughts,
all the possibilities
for how helpless
the wind is
when it's always being
knocked out.