Once I drove seven hundred miles
across the pocked face of Nevada
having slept one hour in two nights.
My mind wandered and I sang and swerved,
drifting off--
the mirrored brine pools along I-15
reflected splintery fenceposts and
halfcircle culverts,
this lone pickup truck sailing like a swan
over a translucent asphalt lake.
All of it a vision, swirling and hazed,
the open road and the shoulder and the median
and some direction, some driving westward;
I don't remember much of it.
I'm lucky I survived.
That salted and mountained landscape,
reeling me in over its sagebrush and juniper
in a dream,
with some semblance of destination.
--- ---
Just some thoughts and reflections on the craziest long drive I've ever done, Provo to Placerville when I had only slept one hour in the last two nights. I was asleep before I passed the Kennecott smokestack.
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5 comments:
Your near death sounds so pretty. Glad you are alive too. xo
i agree with amy. the hazy confusion of it all becomes weirdly beautiful, i love the brine pools and the pocked face and the junipers and how it is "some direction." now i want to know WHY??!
Pretty sure it was just coming home for christmas vacation or something, after the fall semester had ended. Nothing spectacular, but it was necessary that I get home.
Typical Chewie: Poetic-Sleep-Pusher. Remember Boston-Concert-Roamers?
Definitely I do. I think we need a return to form.
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