we’ll get there sooner or later, he says.
i don’t care about the journey this time
Hecate at crossroads,
wishing green at every light.
keys in ignition,
hold snakes at eyelash length.
i don’t care about the journey
Abeona stands on my shoulder and
whispers in my ear.
cut fan blades with red
nod right for yes
and there is nothing more to say.
We’lL gEt TheRe sOoneR oR LaTeR, mocks the roadkill in the ditch.
i’m stealing your skull for a mask;
i’ve been looking for a new face.
hundred year old well pours out
in rose petals.
share an ice-cold coffee with the ground.
shower with the desert cacti, they said my attitude is
a single lamp in a lost motel lobby, tip
two percent because my wallet’s been dry since i left the city.
smoke and steam in one-star medditeranean restaurants
mix mayonnaise into rice,
call me a heathen.
three days stranded on an empty gas tank
mirages of pitch-black dreams.
find me when i get there.