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I’m going down the highway, my tires are on fire.
The pavement is burning behind me.
I hold my thoughts real still,
I don’t blip the radar.
I slam through little towns like a crazy dust devil,
swirl into the Tiny Mart for food and drink.
White lines yellow lines white lines yellow lines.
Scenery goes upside down through my optic nerve,
is flipped by my brain, and then whispers
every thought I ever had, and then forgot, and then
had again, and then forgot again.
The bigger the map I have, the smaller the roads I take.
I drive through some towns because of their name.
It all flashes by and is gone.
Mirages of water stretch like fake lakes and oceans
ready to blaze at the kiss of a Zippo.
it is early in the morning
and I stare at my coffee
but I can’t see the future.
if I could, I’d want to change it,
but that’s not part of the bargain.
the past is either set in concrete,
or a mirror full of strobe lights–
the coffee won’t explain that either.
everything I do
sets something in motion
I get dizzy.
We lay on the ground and stretch our arms wide
and pretend we are airplanes––
someday we’ll fly away
up up into the happiness clouds
up where it’s fluffy and funny and free
with lots of oxygen and plenty of room
and hapiness for miles
everywhere you look
we will barely remember where we came from
or remember as much as we want
but only with amusement and pleasure and
gratitude and it will look like
a landscape tapestry where every
piece every thread every dot was
perfect and exactly where
it was meant to be
and we will fly to the stars
and swirl with the galaxies
and dance the cosmic dance
of love only love
restless day break of tension memories.
what does it mean to know what to do?
what does it mean to want to be alive?
what does it mean to consent to being alive?
if only there could be true understanding.
then forgiveness and peace would be easy.
and harmony and co-operation would follow.
and that should be what we learn in school.
hippos shuffle their midnight bodies
through the stars of questions.
they are not in the past or future.
but it feels like past and future
is all there is.
many fires by the water lined along the shore
camping sounds and stories and songs
ancient rhythm of the waves––
when the tide rolls in the fires will wash away.
swans drifing on the pond
water so still like a mirror every swan
looks like two swans one right side up
and the other upside down so many swans
falling to the ground now and then a meteor
or piece of space ice caught by earth
bringing some small change to the planet––
space so large we can’t imagine our place.