Rush-hour Cloak


Picture by Janet Garcia




Sunset smoking, on fire.

Slightly car-sick, I roll on the highway,

The tree branches along the road seem to greet me.

Dronin’ wasp-scooters slide ahead from behind,

Ghost-men cross the street blessing their lives with risk,

While the taillights burn slow, and the sunset hides behind blankets of clouds.

Today, I hallucinate reality less than yesterday,

Today, I’m in perfectly unsteady balance.



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