Bumping along, blacked out; lights and passengers my seat mate
Is 7 feet of post tall, sweat eau de nature rolling.
Every time he rolls
Smooth and silky, my acid is finally hidden.
So no one forgot to turn off the heaters? Please turn off the heater
My mind is alive, amazing how our pens are so sturdy, defined by idea set in law, none of it concrete
All of it concrete they are buildings at the border
Arbitrary lines and legal aids, we work on their time don’t rush freedom. An age of adventure dictated by (in) pass books and pocket worth.
It’s so fucking hot.
Line- arbitrarily- doesn’t budge, justice takes her time
Weeding out the culprit, making the criminal, crime seems to be sourced not observed. The desire for ill intent increases in the face of assumed misgiving.
He’s a racist fuck with a patchy chin, trying to make fun of those who don’t speak his language, I wish I was a comedian.
Assumed misgiving, let’s hope he misses thanksgiving
No booth was bombed
Before it was built
No border battered
Before it was etched. Let’s set up laws to elicit illicit acts not yet created.
“It was all good until the lines showed up”
Graffiti on the rocks
“Phones off she says” “Let’s all try and be f-r-i-e-n-d-s”
Have a safe trip.
Traffic jumps and stalks, spanish spills from the loudspeaker, still drab and flat. A lifeless job: Driving a bus.
It won’t be tragic or romantic when mechanics replace worn out Michelle. (She drives busses)
Cocked to the north-east, interstate 420 is a route well run. Perhaps her pointy pre-ride requirements spice up the straight shot job.
Rile some backs, coil some haunches, entertain with others disdain.
A cheap seedy thrill, we speed through the hills just to see what we can see.
If one watches the rear view mirror with intent, from any row or seat, you can see her rolling eyes.
On a raindrop Thursday, she can’t help but be softened by soft water spheres. Before she sat behind a BIG WHEEL driving BIG WHEELS, she turned eyes. Now she just looks
Looking stunned, dropped dead twice, it was gorgeous now gorey, she could have been a steward on Armenian airlines.
Instead now sideways glances and traffic reports, baggage bay receiving on the side, plastered with smokey winks and flirty glares.
What a time to be alive.