Following the bumblebee…
Flyin’ down I-35
My right hand rips into the wheel
as my left hand, unbeknownst to me,
reaches out and slams a hole
thru the windshield
Brake lights-spot lights
of the devil himself
tracing ’round this concrete trail of death
in these shoddy mechanical metal coffins.
The sky cries silver. No shit. Silver.
My eyes begin to drop,
hanging by threads of nerves.
I notice that my lap is coming closer
I see a highway deconstructing.
It’s pointing to heaven, falling to hell
reaching for heaven, collapsing to hell
Going some where, going no where…
Daytime, up I-35
“Shhh,” I say to the menagerie of ghosts,
“my FM is trying to tell me something.
It’s saying shit I’d never heard it say before.”
Echoes echo thru the madhouse of my mind.
Should I stop?
Perhaps pull over?
I am a couple drops over
the illegal trip limit
and after all…
The sky is raining, silver no less
and my eyes, my precious baby blues,
are rolling around the floorboard
vicariously at my feet
and that highway to heaven, to hell
is looking enticing to me right about now.
Maybe I should stop…
the car, the drugs, the games, the ride,
the madness, the insanity.
But the tracers keeps tracing
and the sky keeps crying…silver
and my eyes keep hanging and dangling
and my shoddy metal coffin keeps driving
and I’m flying
trying to keep up
with the bumblebee…
Flyin north on I-35