Poem 2 in the ProCrasstheNation Poemvember Poetry Project, comes from the deep lunacy of a deep friend. He knows his blame, and wears it like a badge. As they say in the French, Phuck Ewe, Jimmy Burke. This one is for Beepo, Gibbah, and the Dudeman. Maintaining the corners of my mind’s past.

I hope you enjoy the trip.

 

“Yayo”

Driving at a good clip.

Coasting upon the grey unending day.

Nearly falling asleep behind the wheel.

I need some, Yayo.

 

Quicker picker-upper.

Sniff-snuffer.

Eight-ball ruffian.

Powdered milk mustache.

 

Yielding to the darkest horizon.

Lofty lamps light just enough,

so that I’ll see the deer a split second before we demise each other.

 

The road?

Not taken,

burning bacon.

What’s my stake in…

all of them?

 

Raging road,

rigged with fantasies of escape,

and relentlessly redundant mile markers.

Reaching forward and back.

Incremental.

 

On the Road,

again?

Sal Paradise, and Dean Moriarty haunt the paths.

Enlightenment is another word for finding out things we can’t unknow.

Struggle bubble.

 

Roads taken out of context.

Redirects, ill effects.

Ponder.

Pathways relieved of weary passengers.

There is not enough gas for this trip.

 

Scuttling on down the line.

Time is gaining.

The relative distance from reality to expectation is the largest expanse imaginable.

 

Rubber meets the road.

Self-implodes.

Glowing diodes.

 

Distant dawn, dares drivers,

drawing down the day.

Drip-drying pain.

 

Make sure you take notes.

Getting home is hard,

getting lost is like breathing.

 

No one will tell you how to go.

All of us out here, driving around.

Accidents abound.

 

But, someone paved the roads;

so there’s that.