Posted by marko on 12/13/2006, 8:40 am
65.167.39.185
as the sun peeks its head up over rolling appalachian hills
i find myself sitting alone in a pontiac 8-cylinder
with a cross hanging from the rearview mirror
that swings wildly about when i fire it up
& go careening off toward the heavens
or maybe downtown
i listen to background music with a touch of static for
flavor. that’s bad enough to hang yourself from. & those
sappy strings are plucked by devious little demons
with angelic faces. that pretend to jump from line to line.
the melody is dark & sticky. it takes some time for me to
pull my fingers apart. there’s no point in trying to read
my voice. there are no subtle inflections to pick up on
that will steer you into well hidden spots—either out of
fear or intentional. there are no bold declarations of love
reduced to defensive measures. there are no dog-eared
equivalents. it’s two a.m. & the lights suddenly snap on.
this is a bad sign. it’s clear that i’ve become a peripheral
character. i have nothing to say, but i may have enough
tears to fill the uncomfortable silence. i walk out to my car.
i lay my hands on the dash, as if they have some power left
in them. i grip steering wheel tight to steady them. but there
will be no miracles. i begin to weep into an indifferent night.
& morning may drag its sadistic feet, or decide not to come
at all.
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