Sunday, August 20, 2006


It’s the night lights that blind us; not the piercing sun-
shine, baby. Lay your hat on the back seat.
I go into cruise and you keep trying to control.
Don’t do it. Stay quiet and let me show you the view.

Here’s the lot where I lived. Here’s the care and juxta-
position of then against now. I love that.
Here’s the happy home and the barn where cats
chase mice.

The car rolls over gravel roads. 98
Fahrenheit drags us down; makes us sweat against
leather seats. You open your mouth to an ice cube
and the radio plays lonesome. lonesome. lonesome.

The asphalt smells like burning irony. I am so concerned
with the gas tank. You look nervous. I think of how
you taste like sugar under the blue Indiana.
I look for your eyes' reflection: simple and sudden.


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