The Highway Bible

(abandoned draft for The Motorcade)


You breath the psalm of the sleeping navigator

in ragged exhalations that slip

from between lips like roadkill

you are dreaming, unaware how far

your negligence has let me stray--

through stop lights, across yellow lines


I'm writing the gospel of the

wrong-lane driver

in the valley of oncoming headlights

praying to the steering wheel

embrace my heart,

catch me and keep me

should I fall further from grace.


We're tearing pages from the highway bible

driving like the devil, living like the damned

rapturous, we kneel for no one

carving our own hell

out of whiplash turns

creating our own heaven

from eyelashes fallen to sweat covered faces,

from lies told in darkness

to ears with selective hearing.


The End

0 comments about this poem Feed