Tuesday, October 25, 2011

westward bound 2

No light pollution, so the cars across the divider appear as yellow 
snow globes, as spaceships, as worried ideas. Dad sleeps 
beside me, I'm cold,  it's forty-three degrees out there, there's so much 
bad that can happen, those choices I've avoided, what 
does silence mean, people's intentions are a fucking mystery. I want 
to be happy. We pull  off the road onto a stretch of concrete that goes off 
into blackness, hello South Dakota, Dad says uhhhh, 
I think we should turn back but we keep driving and remain 
alive, at the Best Western the guy tells us his wife will be making biscuits
and gravy or french toast or pancakes or waffles in 
the morning, he doesn't know what, they live just across the road, we
can turn the heat on from our beds with this remote control. 

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