081508

I really like riding with an open book in my lap
and staring at something far off away
to kill nausea-
though I've never been one to get carsick
But I'm watching the passers
as my shoulders creep up
and these headlights,
these headlights,
these headlights,
these headlights
are sending the sweat beading
upon my back.
And the fragment cologne
from those sleeping around me
moves through my body
a huge tribal cemetery.


Stranger
Your body would like to fall asleep on my shoulder.
Your mind rouses you, over again,
for you don't know: I'd let you.