I heaved my arms,
As if reaching the moon, saying
“Cab.”
I opened the door,
Slammed it against the surface
It clicked,
Surely, locked inside
“Where to? ”
“Madison.”
“That’s far as hell, stranger.”
“Anywhere. Farther would be awesome.”
I am troubled,
I slept in the cab,
With no reason to drab
My wounds with memories, salt
But I still do
To feel the twinges,
Drawn closer
To images past the sidewalks.
“You have a wife waiting for you? ”
Inquisitive a cab driver should not be
“No.” Memories are
During the past years
Strewn with satin
Porcelain, silk
Flannel and the withstanding
Redwood for foundations
The cab driver took a drag,
Shook his head
Emphasized his eyes
Past the rear view mirror
Like waterbeds
I am back to bedlam.
Past the slopes
Headed towards Madison
Fog lamps clearing the horizon
The road goes steep,
I noticed the deep pits calling me
At the front passenger seat, I awoke
With the rumbling of thunder
I saw dead trees
Lifeless branches
On the streets
While the cab was traversing
The steep roads,
I stole the steering wheel
Directed us through the steel
Barricades,
Finally
Someone to share half of my pain
Come with me
Down to the cliffs, cab driver
“Oh my god.” He shouted,
I have waited
So long for this
Better than a coma,
Death speaks no words.
We fell sharply,
Full-speed, half-blind
Towards the cliffs,
Anticipating death,
A great perhaps,
No memory
No scorn.
Watching the day you were born,
In reverse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem