Friday, January 6, 2017


You think of another city
That comes between this gas station
And the “x” on the map we’re driving towards,
Sounds something like
Goat cheese,
you joke,
A smile
For every mile that went
Silent behind us,
Goleta, I tell you,
And tap beats on the
Steering wheel,
Billy Joel is getting out of Allentown
With his piano and acoustic guitar,
Sing me a song, I ask,
Sing me something
That will make me sad
And glad to be breathing,
You drop the magazine to your lap,
Smile, as you do,
When mystery discovers the
Parts of your psyche
No one could find
On a map
Of all the bumps on your head,
You place the map,
Folded in three wrong directions,
In the glove compartment,
You stare to the highway,
Santa Barbara is nearing,
A Sad song, you repeat,
And croon, husky and low,
“Happy Birthday to you..."

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