because being drifters together is better than being stagnant alone.
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because being drifters together is better than being stagnant alone.
“A Car, A Road, and Infinite Youth”
Let it all ride on a Friday night.
Gamble the future you’d waste anyway.
The time is ripe for new beginnings,
So take the wheel from me tonight.
Label yourself in hyperbole and superlative.
You know you need a change.
You have a drive to cast off invisible demons,
A drive to look for the darkness within the
Light, a drive to fight the hallowed nights and cloudless days
Life is hard when all roads lead to the same boulevard
But you’re scared to wander unfamiliar paths,
Afraid to find a new way to fly.
while walking slowly past bored trees,
i made an overcast confession on eden street.
“i just don’t care what’s real claire,
what’s wrong with seeking delusion?”
she provides blueberry street-sign inspiration
“take the interstate with me tonight.”
tepid and afraid but lured by her gaze,
the engine purrs onto the street.
we drive to drive and nothing more.
time is continuous but our youth is infinite.
a highway u-turn at 70.
she opens the window,
feels the steady moonlight on her lips.
I smile at the shocked cop to the right,
too stunned to turn the lights on.
she’s a difference maker.
differently making her destiny.
defiantly marking all the world her territory.
she never lets the sweet smell of dust settle,
before kicking up some more.
doing dashboard lines of wood chips and permed fingertips,
an edgy metaphor for viral medicine,
virally marketed to the kids commercially blinded.
but we know all the world’s secrets,
so we just slyly smile,
and let the soft breeze roll in.
this is just a four a.m. pitstop on life’s highway.
driving fast, our way to take it slow.
so grab the keys and fill the tank,
we’re unlearning ourselves tonight.
walk with me through forgotten forests
intertwine our hands and hearts
listen to the crickets hum a hymn,
chirp a peaceful lullaby.
we sit in indefinite solitude.
the moon becomes the sun.
Halfway down the eagle in a car too fast to move
Blowing off streams of steam into a cloudless sky
We pass cars and stars,
A metaphor for the endless nights we watched them in the sunset
We’re in the business of introspection,
Bankrolled by dreams of a brighter past
Regret is our currency, as we live out of our auto office
But now our shifts are over,
Our daily work is through.
Time to just unwind.
But without any beers to drink,
And with the gas petal as our coaster,
This is our happiest hour.
[car-based poetry. at least from me. poetry slam, 8:00 thursday 9/24, JC Bistro.]