Wednesday, May 15, 2013


[to c.b.]

a poor man stopped in the fast lane in the future.
he got out of his car and stood
on the fence separating the two
simultaneous highways.
his open eyes, teeth,
reflecting passing headlight
yellows. his raised hands collecting
the translucent black rain.

it’s a lucky thing
everyone is so well adapted
to their own wireless
thoughts. and that
under some casual distraction,
they can think as much
as much as possible.

i have tried not to.

i went to live
where they once lived.
i went to detroit.
my car broke down i couldn’t pay
for that kind of  fix.
i called my father
and he sent some money god bless him.
god bless him and i went
straight to pittsburg, fixed.

i went to live
where my grandparents had once visited in passing.
they told stories of the fish fry restaurant.
where the ancients had built homes and
huge computers and telephones. and suddenly
people rose
from mudbanks by the rivers and roadsides.
and they wanted to talk
on telephones
and drive to homes
at the end of their shifts.

a poor man mentally sketches
out the fast lane passerby parade
of glare and horns
drawing yellow lines and yellow
lights in his mind
so as best to
remember what
would be
lost otherwise.
and then
i am still driving.
were my wireless telephone
still alive, i would see
how many minutes
i am estimated away
from my destination.
and how far
and every man in every car ahead of me
becomes minutes
further away. but today my phone is dead.
so they are just people
i cannot talk to.

I went to live where they once lived
then I came back.
this new civilization;
we’re still driving
from home,
to home.