Tuesday, October 1, 2013

a road tale.

On the road
between home
and perdition,
you fantasize about dead people
and missing children.
How did they pass so soon?
Who stole babies
from the cradles
they slept in?
How long before you become
someone else’s fantasy?

The car runs
on a high velocity rev
and you push it harder
to test your own endurance
for a quick-get-a-way.
You should have gone to work
or at least stayed home.

But you ride the broken
lines to an unattainable horizon.
Your beliefs,
and states of mind,
are sold to you
by silent benefactors
of an unknown future.
On the empty road at three in the morning
they are the beacons
to our unearthly conclusions.

There is an exit up ahead,
food, gas, and a pot to piss in.
Fluorescent lighted way stations
where you can buy a hot dog,
a pack of condoms,
a 36oz keg of soda
and a smut magazine.
All serviced by some foreigner
who is prouder than you
for being in this country.

You get back
on the post-human American highway
and hit the car
for a blast off ride towards Neverland.
You remember
it as a place
you had always wanted to visit.
You choose to keep on driving past
its pearly gates and pick up speed
on the straight and narrow path before you.

You have no idea where you’re going
but you assure yourself
you’ll feel better when you get there.
And maybe you will.