WE ARE ORBITING,
THAT IS TO SAY, GET ME OUT OF HERE
Jupiter is dying next to me,
slowing & undoing & there is
a pile up on i-40 into
memphis. The tennessee border is
aching in the lowering sun, pulsing
up from the concrete slab it rests on.
I am just trying to get somewhere,
but the ubiquitous they says no.
Not before daylight savings.
The wheel and I are tracing the route,
chalk outline or bread crumbs or fracture,
we don’t quite know yet. The Planets sing.
I am silent in the driver’s seat
like funeral pyre before the fire is lit.
My rings are twitching, retracting back
to my celestial body like don’t
want to catch it, can’t flatline right now.
Not until the asphalt cools.