going

There are dreams of maps and destinations, red stars

with iron hearts to guide. A soundtrack of whispers roaring

through rolled down windows.

I hauled hard on the lines of truth, every version of hands

held fast to preciousness. Let them be blinded and learn

to feel again the flesh they are. The comfort of their own

skin. Do you remember where you parked the car? I want

to find the rain.

The sun rise catches in remains of grasshoppers bright

glowing nebulas on the crackling sky of the windshield. A

glove box full of postmarks waiting.

Butted up against continental drift your wickedness

conspires to keep me willing. Surely I could lose myself in

you as easily as any forest or jagged sea. Burning

through the long night of winter until the need of spring

presses us flat.

I don't want anything to be true again, I'm tired of

squinting to see the contrast between grey and grey.

I watch the sunrise and remember too late; light

intensifies into pain. The dark sun floating behind closed

eyes. I am a giant as I piss. My shadow is infinite but it is

only missing light

.