picked clean

sometimes i scare myself i know i push go too far too fast get too caught up in the inner space of my cavernous skull i dart between cars going one fifteen writing poetry that will never see the page unable to slow down to lift my foot off the accelerator or my fingers from the freshly reopened wounds digging for a bit of homespun hope to soothe this need to aim towards the road ends sign tie a blindfold light a last smoke and punch the fucking thing until something goes to pieces leaving one last performance exhibit for the goddamned vultures to pick clean

4 thoughts on “picked clean

  1. Mike I also remember a poem you wrote about going slow……there was an older driver in the fast lane frustrating all the other drivers….you drove up beside her in the slow lane caught her eye and you both drove together at the same speed….blocking the other drivers and driving them crazy.
    I have that image of you in my mind also. Too fast, too slow it is all in the eye of the beholder:)

    Liked by 1 person

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