8

I’m leaving on a road trip,

And this Boxster
Has a place for you.
West,

Towards an abandoned Manhattan,

Sleeping in Round Mountain,

Stripped of gold,
And waiting for you.

Your feet redefine my windshield.

Your hair streaks my sky.
Christ arrives with the sun rays,

And neither one of us

Is too proud to cry.
We dine on salad and pretzels,
At a diner near Nye,
Where no one has heard of cancer,
And everyone sleeps
Drinking Templeton Rye.
And I thank you for coming,
For the faith it took
To leave your mind behind.
Behind with the rubble,
With the laughter that gave birth to whimpers,

With the winters that assassinated spring,

With the rainbows that gave birth to barrels,

Gilded shrapnel,
A personal gift from a benevolent king.
Yet on this road,
Why would it even matter?
Our indifference is the question,

Our silence is the answer.

We make love with the highway.

Speed with our wings.

This is my invitation,
The journey is my promise,

The road is my ring.

*

Copyright 2019