THE OVERPASS
The cars flow beneath me
in their cemented veins,
so certain, so purposed.
I lean against the railing, arms outstretched,
trying to smell the worlds whispers hanging on the wind.
But I only smell it, hear it. The belching exhaust.
Theyre coming, I know they are.
The cars, gnashing their teeth,
rattling their mufflers like thirsty blades.
They will have my head this time.
They will haunt my dreams with memories of you, my loss.
Dreams that mock my tremblings in anticipation of their hollow future.
Dreams in which I am suffocated, by failure,
by betrayal, and by the horrible possibility that
I might not be wanted, or
worse yet, needed here.
The Automobiles encircle me on the
overpass that hangs Damoclesian, like looming
suburban death over highway 101.
They drool and seethe as their
pleated slacks and five year plans
tighten from arousal. Theyre going to fuck me,
they will break me for sure this time.
I would not face them, I will not face them.
Oh Lord, to feel small and insignificant
in that instant, to be lifted up from
this uncertainty that longs to dash my brains
against the freeway divider wall.
It was then, even then
when I seemed so far from truth,
it was there on the overpass
where the world threatened to gulp down my tiny frame
that I felt love,
tugging on the leg of my pants,
saying - "please please please,
give me an airplane ride."
The cars flow beneath me
in their cemented veins,
so certain, so purposed.
I lean against the railing, arms outstretched,
trying to smell the worlds whispers hanging on the wind.
But I only smell it, hear it. The belching exhaust.
Theyre coming, I know they are.
The cars, gnashing their teeth,
rattling their mufflers like thirsty blades.
They will have my head this time.
They will haunt my dreams with memories of you, my loss.
Dreams that mock my tremblings in anticipation of their hollow future.
Dreams in which I am suffocated, by failure,
by betrayal, and by the horrible possibility that
I might not be wanted, or
worse yet, needed here.
The Automobiles encircle me on the
overpass that hangs Damoclesian, like looming
suburban death over highway 101.
They drool and seethe as their
pleated slacks and five year plans
tighten from arousal. Theyre going to fuck me,
they will break me for sure this time.
I would not face them, I will not face them.
Oh Lord, to feel small and insignificant
in that instant, to be lifted up from
this uncertainty that longs to dash my brains
against the freeway divider wall.
It was then, even then
when I seemed so far from truth,
it was there on the overpass
where the world threatened to gulp down my tiny frame
that I felt love,
tugging on the leg of my pants,
saying - "please please please,
give me an airplane ride."