We rode the silent flames of
stillness high above our town to the far reaches
of sanity

and it hurt.

A body bag shakes in the corner of a dark closet
while children are rushed off to school in the morning.
The mini-van rattles off another 20 mile day, coffee
stains all over the console, mortgage rates all over the mind.
The interior under a black light would be the California goldrush
of Starbuck's.

88' Z-28 and all the promise of cigarette burned pleather, prom dress
airing out on the hood they fuck in the woods and bask in the
illusion of freedom as the ghost of our closet friend
watches through the moonroof.

A concentration camp of toddlers in pig fences
exists just down the road. Led by the son
of a mother and brother
this place is just screaming
for a mini-van.

11/03/2008

Posted on 11/04/2008
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