when she gets out of this town

headlights on my legs feel different
here, marooned with crickets, dead dirt.
like teeth, the sound of tires crunches through
the velvet curtain of cicada songs.

one day i’ll make it to the highway tides
of trucks heading for distant coasts.
they drive through deserts, true. but then,
it’s a dry heat, wind in your face.

what would that be like? seated high
in a cushioned cab, gripping one’s own wheel,
far cry from this mottled swamp and
the secret sweating of my gums.

smooth sailing from there: truck stops, roadside stands
and then the great salt cities. dunes.
fresh seafood. oysters. (ah, oysters!)
made myself sick once with those things, once.

our first christmas eve together,
those soft bodies glimmered in their
prison beds, eager for the spring,
sliding down. i tasted sand, silk, freedom.

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3 thoughts on “when she gets out of this town

  1. Dreams of the open road always sound so inviting…until you’re stuck in some little desert town with someone you don’t like…ah just a random image…enjoyed your post.

  2. thanks for reading, friend. i’m working with survivors of different kinds of violence right now. seemed like a good idea to try to capture some of that experience in verse, but i don’t know how effective it was. i’m glad the idea of “stuck” came through all right.

  3. Feeling the glimpse of similar Kerouac dreams far away…if only I could find a job to eventually fund my oysters and dunes.

    Effective and lovely in it’s subtlety.

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