i have
hours between
calls
sitting in
the cold rain
in a gravel lot
outside the
fed ex warehouse
somewhere
west of 35
a few miles
from the
next appointment
too far from
anything
except empty
parking lots
and blustery
bouts of rain
waiting for
the next act
to play out
in my mind

a granular
dissociation in
between the
fat drop splatters
driving down
the frontage road
astride my steed
herding the
cattle sitting
still on the
toll road
trusty revolver
on my hip as
i adjust my hat
and squint off
into the distance

navigating
a spatial distortion
too aware one
stray atom
could pierce the
hull and send
a chain reaction
of vacuous collapse
into the radiation
soaked nothingness
headed home
after a long haul
to richardson or
alpha centauri
who can say
with certainty
as we tunnel
through the fabric
of space in
quiet desperation

hours to kill
in an ever
tightening web
of anxieties
and self doubt
staring into the
space between
frantic heartbeats
dreamthistle
wrapped around
wheezing ventricles
little black spots
swimming at the edge
as i deteriorate
into a cloud of
floating spores
lost again
in my cavernous skull