In living all these lives
(richness of spaces
homes
meals
handshakes
hugs
laughter
eyes)
We rode through the tragic times
rubber meets asphalt we're
so American that we're always
on the highway
Visceral movement of machines
(your soul inside my soul
is locked in a place (freely, floating steely
freedom of something that cannot be given or
taken) that is not a place)
Opus of the Highway
say goodbye to the death-times
give me a few more life-times
Let us swimmingly glide
through the morning colored tides
into the motor-night
(into the oily succinctness of it all
into the fatal flaws of synchronicity)
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