I thought I would torture all of you with a little creative project I’ve been working on during the holiday.
I was on my way home from somewhere recently and was thinking about how old poets used to used images of traveling and ships and all that romantic shiznit. I thought how funny it would be to use modern day vehicles in a love poem.
So here it is folks:
I steer as a bleary-eyed pilot.
Mind moves constant from flower to flower
None of which are found in this car, on this highway.
I may trace the given lines but I certainly do not
Lay my colors down between them.
I see sky and clouds stuck like cotton balls on bright blue felt
But nothing of the black, blurry base below
No record exists of the road I have traveled
And none but instinct of roads know too well
will guide me home.
Then there is he, who will race from lane to lane,
Angrily raising his justice fist at faceless fellow drivers.
He moves with precision – present and perfect
By the book –
The gear a simple extension of his hand.
Always an Adventurer.
Claustrophobic even while on the move.
It is not recalling a place but
Understanding that all places are just stop signs
And he will obey, stay and be gone.
And there we are
We venture on a road unpaved and unfamiliar to both,
With no lines to speak and no lights to shine,
The pavement a soft sheet underneath us.
Unlikely we should meet in this place
Ironic that it is so
And suddenly it happens –
A smash, a jolt, a spinning of all fibers
In one moment full of panic, prayer and possession
As smoke pushes past
And the air lightens
We two walk to see, if any,
Thing is left
And laying among the spoils of this epic explosion
In the wreck of our accident we find sleeping…