My breaking day,
yolk on a blue plate,
sloppy and dripping
into highway lines,
making its correction
on my direction.
Trained in bad habits
like rabbits, only worse;
curse because–fuck you!
No one has to explain
themselves to no one,
double-negative answers
sputtered upward
from smokestack factories;
a few pencil scratches
that swerve into the flames
of villains on buildings
against a cartoon sky…
Oh my–
I drift away from the right line,
grind over holes
to keep me awake,
get me to class,
get me to work on time,
keep me driving
to my next destination.
Prescription lens
for textbook squiggly
condensation explanations,
meanings for its
deceiving appearance.
Half-purple waking from black,
blushing hues splash
in fragments
of yesterday’s sins.
But they make love;
the pink and blue
fantasy unfolds over road,
over the edge
of reality’s cartoon sky.
Makes you wonder why
we can’t tell the difference;
educated to expect
endings with stars’
handprints in pavement.
Like, if maybe I’m famous,
or can just make my payments,
my place on the dance floor
of Heaven will be
left open for me;
up where fog is just
a cloud on the ground,
vapored tears spilt from the glass
that toasted this center,
this song,
and reminded me of everything
that’s gone.
Retinas inflame
to see the sun tracing
each leaf in the distance;
and, as each nuance
reflects into my eyes
in shades we can’t see
in the absence of light,
bouncing from particles
behind this highway painting
of miles and miles to nowhere;
somewhere instinct
makes me pick up speed,
leave this place
at the cartoon-checkered flag,
as I realize I can still win
this cloud-chasing race
on their concrete.
