Chapter CX: Cross Section of a Saturday Afternoon

the radio sings to me, hears the end of the world

between the stabs of needles and powder,
I have set sail on a river paved south
riding down a little notebook life
of ambiguity and fog.

flying down interstate five, I leave my life
to the ice pick tongues of dead men,
packs and bags, deadweights and deadwants,
crumbling into a sea of diamonds

and blinking out like last year’s christmas bulbs

remember:

write me a letter sometime
when I’m in that cubicle of infinity,
that desert life of dry tongues
and powdered words,

when I’ve become an afterthought
a home lost in the hills
of ambiguity and fog.

the radio sings to me,

catch me, oh spiral arm of galaxy.

- my brother