the herds of clouds swim along the surface of the sky
and i sail over the patchwork of bare forests and farm fields
on a midwestern wind current--stoned and sunny
in the waves breaking between those wide white giants.
the smell of her cigarette is a welcome relief from highway exhaust
seeping in on the gusts through the sunroof,
and despite the gale the day is fair and freeing, yet
i grind against the ground here. i kick up old debris
and i catch a lot of drag here. my hands are chalky,
my eyes dusty, my lips are burning and lusting for a sip of water
but the electric air steals it away, and the serpentine street
sucks up every spare second of my time.
i have no conclusion to settle such a revelation
only want and abandon--the same as any classic resignation
or defeat. i throw up my arms to the spiraling street
and raise them in exaltation to the spirits floating over me
carving through the oceanic heaven lying not pacific,
nor ebbing atlantic, but rather capping my murky earth
with a pale and foamy surf which peaks and spills
as they slice open the teary-eyed sky.
