i even put on cologne...

WE'RE GLIDING SEAMLESSLY
ONE WITH THE NIGHT SKY
A LESS MENNACING BLACK THAN THE HIGHWAY
EVICERATED BY YELLOW LINES
FOREVER RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
OF ORANGE BARRELS
KEEPING US ALLIGNED
AND BLIND

METALIC MESSANGERS INFORM US
THAT SPEEDING FINES ARE DOUBLED
ADDICTION IS INESCAPABLE
AND THE TOLL BOOTH AHEAD
ONLY ACCEPTS CASH
AND NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS

THE BOOTH MAN GRINS
A MORE LIVELY AND
GENUINE GRIN THAN USUAL
AND TELLS ME
THAT I REMIND HIM OF MY MOTHER
WHO PASSED THROUGH HERE YEARS AGO

_Jackson grind

________________________________________________

I wake up. I wish it was dawn, but it’s late in the afternoon. A nurse is wiping sweat from her brow from last night’s full-moon bombardment. I’m sitting up, my eyes still not ready for what sunlight still remains. Sometimes I wish there were cactus outside my window instead of pine or spruce. The intangible Midwest haunting my travelers mind. I earn my existence by blending in. I’m often reassured of this when I think about someone writing a book about my life; a mountain of menial tasks followed by an uncanny amount of walking. It’d be an easy read though, the kind you could float through like the dotted lines of a composer’s wand, gracefully swaggering like a cowboy whose spurs never got caught in bramble or tore a young home-makers mini-skirt. Lets not forget the sea though, whose waves go unnoticed in every setting sun. And when the tide finally recedes I hope I’m sipping a cold beer somewhere with my back turned.

_Virgil Cross