found an old less-than-mediocre poem, wheeeeeeeeeeee.
few streetlights, fewer traffic lights.
I can’t seem to speak.
my speakers are broken.
bbbzzzzZZZZzzz, in stereo
until we hit another pothole
— silence.
time slows.
shy mind too content to spoil with words
a straight and steady road unwavering,
I round a blind internal curve and wait, impatient.
my eyes roll over miles of moon shadowed fields,
trained away from you, framed within frames,
for fear I won’t see what I feel.
and now the window falls, escape wisps
of silver, sparks red, sparks of energy invisible —
microscopic specks from our small cosmos, fleeing.
time folds in, a soft and stifling linen sheet,
the end of a wave rushing to reach the crest
— trapped.
it catches us
me with one hand on the wheel, twirling my hair
to keep my spare hand from straying out of my chaos
into yours, and you, turned away.
Under Construction 