Driving Song

Driving Song

Somewhere on the way back from the shop, I forgot

the names of all the roses

the size and shape of my vehicle

The trees and brush by the roadside gathered speed,

and began to pass me by

The yellow streetlights blushed and breathed

like some huge, translucent

deep-sea creature

The world had taken leave of the senses

The stain on the seat-cover

blossomed gradually

Noisy lights brushed the tops of trees,

and the radio itself

started to talk and talk and talk

Then

I was a word, loosed from the Webster's

lexicon

I was a frat boy, fallen from pride, drink, and the Fall

I was a catamite, with no tamed serpent to ring

around my finger

I had sinned against the Holy Ghost

But the engine drove me home, and parked

in front of the throne by the TV set,

which I calmly refused to watch,

because I felt

that somewhere you were standing

very close to me

that you were staring over my shoulder, somewhere beyond

this boundless, sounding dark

waiting to pronounce my names,

to tease out meanings from the skein

and tangle of this indigence―

to welcome my good looks, disfigurement, and grace

And I loved you for it, incompletely, in advance.