I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Driving Tired at Night

You’re floating down the city’s throat
and your dreams are filling your head
like water and your rubber skull is stretching.

Balance your car like a plate on a stick.
The illusion of lightness burned off the car
and even your body feels as heavy as it is.

You have the momentum of a pulsar falling.
If you crashed into the ground, you’d bore
a vein through the earth and come out weightless.

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