Highway Blues

Monday, January 16, 2006
12:25:44 AM

The bus is ready to leave
You should pull down your sleeve
We are about to sit in cubes
To freeze in icy tubes
May I have a look at your Ticket?
F2, he says, the number of my seat
A creature, stoned, with red eyes beside
Change, I say, change my cube
I want to get iced in some other tube
Hello, I am old and ill, Cancered
I yawn at her and put on the music.
Music, the closed curtain...
The navy black sky behind
With twinkling planets and
Stars glowing in vain...
Abortive in guiding the journey...
We shall ride towards the moon
It’s copper, spreading the rays of boon
Cross, I panic, cross the ferry...
Will it be fifty minutes or fifty seconds?
Another lady, cancered still
With a smile of a dollar bill
In front, unaffected slumber and ill
Multiplying cells out in the night to kill
Am I the one I was a hundred miles after?
The fog digs the bones in
We are waiting for our grave
Hungry fingers thinkin’
Of food, as we qualify to crave
For the ticket that I ate to crumbs...