Drive Till The Gas Tank Hits Empty

Zero. Ten. Twenty. Thirty
Wood and leather, grip’s tightenin’
Forty. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy.
Light streaking, wind’s blowin’
Eighty, Ninety, Hundr’d
Road signs blur, engine’s roarin’
Hundr’d Ten, Hundr’d Twenty. Hundr’d Thirty
Road narrows, steering wheel’s rattlin’
Hundr’d Forty
Thrill’s gone, maniac howlin’
Hundr’d Fifty
Inhibitions lost, ride’s slippin’
Hundr’d Sixty. Zero


Dear Ms. V

No matter how hard
I shout
I think
about you

— You still can’t hear
My existence

And for that
I am

For how will a man function
In his daily toil
If he has no inspiration

Do you know
How hard it is
To think about you
Every second of my day?

It’s maddening
Truly maddening
Your beauty
Your essence
Your absence.