Thursday, June 4, 2009

"I Think We're in Arkansas"

Scrounged every quarter,
Every last drop
Of liquor, scrapped
Meat and cheese
From fridge corners,
Enough bread for
Six days driving.
Six dudes piled
Together, cargo van
Windows always down,
Drinking the sun
Through aviator glasses.
Trading thoughts, stories
Personal histories, karma
Absorbing color, strong
Wind, heat, sound
Pouring through skin
Making us whole
Becoming one whole
Car and not
Six separate passengers.
Hot speaker stereo
Music with fingers
Tickles our faces.
We keep rolling
Cheap tobacco cigarettes
Tangled in laughter,
Episodes of conversation
Or momentary seclusion,
With surplus jerky
Chewing jaws numb
Until smiles stuck
From muscle tensed,
Dozing off, on
Sliding down seats
Drooling in sleep.
Forgetting our names
Remembering only seconds,
Tattooing a memory
Shaped like wheels
On my ribs.

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