The heat arrived
and a weight left me
I parked up my ideas
covered them in words
all kinds of language
sprayed over my endgames
and starting lines
like that rusting van
I saw and photographed
knowing it and I were the same
and you might think I’m mental
but it was like a mirror
in contrast to how all you
cunts make me feel.
Too many years on this road
broken van highways
when winds fell to the breeze
and I forgot to look ahead
neck locked and tenacious
headlights stuck on open
broken van insides
but I’m no mechanic
lead by the malfunctions
that heavy thump
fuck if I know what it is
I won’t listen to it now
those sprayed thoughts
from all the pages
from strangers
from long before
telling me to breathe
guiding me like road signs
out of sequence
but no less clear
because logic is overrated.
