I've
been dreaming of a road trip to New York from So Cal and I'm hoping
to do so soon on my new (used) 535 Virago. This poem is the result of
daydreams fixated on this trip.
snap
my foot comes back to find the final gear.
my right hand curls the throttle back, until finally that soaring monotone
hummmmmmmm...
it's a mesa-flanked two-lane road
a trustworthy friend who never faulters
but threads straight into Arizona sunrise;
straight into the mouth-watering mirage of actualization
straight over the edge of the world and i'm just an insect scurrying
over God's kitchen floor
while he stands overhead sipping on his steamy coffee mug
across into the cupboard-sky
looking-glass chrome exhaust spewing milky grey involutes
back at all of history saying "i have no need of your paltry anchors-
i must make room for those to come."
so humm away my singing scorpion angel
this is what Mom said would be the death of me
this is my careless, drunken stumbling towards dharma
this is my red and orange eye breakfast
this is my desert dawn