THE CAR IS JUST A METAPHORE

He was the lost:
Maddening costliness of youth--
I drove him in my car, let him drive

To buy his drugs, repercussions
Of an unnamed heroin. It was the end of something.

We traversed a stupid land decked with lilies,
And bought the closet shut
In my car with a smile.

She and I, also
Drove in my car, repressed by bad directions
My specious infatuation…

She knows everything and there’s nothing I can do about it.

It’s the car; it’s the rebirth of me and what I can’t contain anymore.

It isn’t the car, just
The ability to leave, this stupid star
Preposterously far away
But its there and its family, and I suppose its

The locksmith juggling his own disbelief.
My mind
A pile of unwashed clothes.