Thursday, March 10, 2011

express service

Amazingly enough I wrote this while driving from Waco down to San Antonio. That route is one of the ugliest in the state- nothing but empty rangeland, truckstops and porn shops in between towns. I felt like it was a healing experience to concentrate on anything besides the "scenery!"

The title comes from the first sign I looked up to see at the exceedingly unsightly gas station where I had stopped after I wrote the thing.

* * *

The country song
drones on and on
I-35 from Waco
down to San Antone
and I think as I steer
thoughts that soon interfere
with the faith that I left
in a warm mug of beer
'neath the neon of the sign
winking crisp, winking fine
on and off, a short circuit
like these thoughts in my mind-
circling 'round- little rats
gnawing tunnels through the slats
of the bed that's my head
rotting wood knocks it flat!

If I can't stop the vermin's' tear
with some poison  or some dare
I'll succumb and
out my head they'll race
without so much a care!

Wink the patterns of the neon-
frequencies I'll never be on-
hypnotize me like a magus
so I'm happy as a peon.
In this life, to find purpose
we're the rats and they're no worse
off than we- driving distances,
we're driving our own hearse.

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