Driving north on Phillips Road just past Xerox
[ poetry - november 05 ]
I coast and catch the wind in my mouth, touching down perfectly.
Take my foot off the pedal and let the road wind down
to a brief static moment when passengers on other flights
pass me by. Their cars turn into their cages, and I watch
as they claw at and bite through the bars. Well into the night
they howl like outcasts who trail the pack.
The rib cage in the sky leaks clouds of orange and pink,
as these coyotes eat the innards of the dawn. They scrounge and
drag their keep into dens thick with Styrofoam cups and faxes.
My foot heavy on the pedal, I cruise on
to meet up with my next reappearance,
take steps into other people's shadows.
The simplicity of passing through is overwhelming
to the point that I confuse the footsteps of thunder
for a lion's roar in the grass.