At the gas station they make the lights brighter so we can spot the station from the highway
but so when we come inside we won’t stay long. Do you think in the old desert days
“oases” felt and acted like our present day gas stations? Or those camel posts where people met
to smoke meat and tie their horses and other creatures? I’m really curious. I believe
because we are living we should exclaim more about how that is--weird! beautiful! absurd! reliable! scary
hell! relentless! And learn more about it as it goes on... Sometimes I don’t care and I know you
don’t either. But there is a leaf in the sidewalk with its leaf parts soaked in the concrete and only hard
khaki veins relieved on its hand body. And to the infinite part of me that piece means something serious.
We’re inside around a gas station table in an underground aquarium observing the huge glass tank
for a seal to drop inside and relate to us. But we are not at an aquarium.
They are offering plastic treats to midnight people like us who are filled with road.
I’m conflating two particular gas station understandings. I can do that. Am I a stranger? I hope my last thought
gets recorded. How can I make sure that happens? How can I make sure anything happens?
The highway is campfire quiet. Love does save peoples’ lives.
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2 comments:
Well, the whole thing is a project. The gas station and highway are in the ol' dome. I will expand on the highway. It's only there for a two seconds in the poem. Thanks888
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