down 68 today the old van rose up a few feet and flew into a windless
corridor and only then did I realize it had something to do with you.
was similar to driving down the road but the fact that the tires were
not touching the ground sort of got my attention.
floated by Daylight Donuts and Supersaver.
I soundlessly whooshed by ABC Locksmiths and Wendy’s and on
my left, the friendly Ramada Inn – w/massage.
most skeptical looking 4 x 4’s, the black double-cabbed ones with
intimidating, tinted windshields, the most judgmental scratchless
Cherokees, the most bouncer-like Broncos passed without comment.
It wasn’t until I passed Raley’s that it dawned on me that
other drivers weren’t having the same aerial experience.
I remembered your hand stretched out and how it seemed that you were
offering me your life. And
the poised-tear moment that that was, positioned itself in a throbbing
place I had not known before as if it were some rare nocturnal mammal
uncharacteristically showing itself by day in midtown looking in the
windows of the shops like
it was an ascension.
skin reached toward you like the barnacle beings that emerge like
flesh lightning to hunt as soon as they feel the submersion of the
wave. Gladness like
helium beneath the rubber of the van tires.
That someone had seen me while unselfconsciously turning in
myself, as perhaps an uncle might come upon a niece in the front yard,
dreaming herself in the final round of the Olympics, arched with
drama, doubtless as a hawk. And
loved the girl and her dream as one being.
And without realizing it, vowed to protect her with his life.
Jack Wrappit the wheels eased on downward and took on the smooth
traction of the highway. Though
the feeling of being held in love remained, oh soft-footed,
swirl-headed embrace, it was permeated now with a sonic mortgage
company and soon after an ad for the Coast Guard, via KTAO Solar
get smaller by the day, my fat renders into the ash of regret.
My bones thrive and breathe sage.
Now that the van is roadworthy, I could turn around and go
home. Turning into Walmart
I wondered how so many people had time to shop on a mid morning work
day. Doesn’t anyone
work? And I could do not
one thing else but sin if I did partake of this unholy Big Box of
merchandise. Steal from
the worthy with their small businesses, help rape the great plains and
, pollute the empty words of the Buddhists by way of cowboy Darwins
with fiber optic bullwhips between their teeth.
And yet I needed, deeply needed, mitochondriacally needed a
Snickers bar. Ignominy
comes in such a small package. And
yet this craven craving had to do with love.
A loin cloth for its sweet catastrophe, an apostrophe of the
soul, a piñon nut stuck in the molar of a cumulous cupid.
I entered the double door of bad choices.
Was greeted by the Republican retiree, with mens wear on my
right and and shielded my
eyes from all else but my high fructose intention.
as I bit into the industrially faked chocolate and suspended peanuts,
I immediately regretted it. How
much easier it would have been to just drive home and think of you.