road rage


I have to get out of this place.
This Heartbreak Hotel.
This Hotel California.
This funky dive.
This cabin in the woods.
This Mission Street lock down.
This cardboard claptrap
slapped up in an alley.
Along comes a spider and
webs it in.


It’s too impossible for words.
The long and winding road.
The improbable alliance.
The naked vernacular of ugliness.
A cryptologist on a bender.
Come back little Sheba,
there are things to decipher!
The pay’s good,
but still he throws it away.


Bone-dry gear box.
Tireless rims against asphalt.
Sheets of spark in your wake,
pedal to the metal,
what choice is there?


Road rage.


Monkeys collecting salvation in tin cups.
Follow the chain to the hand that
grinds the organ,
but don’t look into those eyes.

Leave a Comment

Filed under poems & short jabs

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *