Driving in a hotel room in Chicago
people in cars act
like they're going somewhere
in armored haste
they burrow their heads
down into the concrete
bumper stickers to justify
their absurd malice
garages, shells for the
cars, shells for the
people, shells.
I have seen the
chemical highways, understanding.
I have seen the
intersections of consciousness.
I have run the red light of
finite possibility.
I will lick the pavement
before jumping on the bandwagon.
will someone drive
me
to the liquor
store?
|
