You walked into the parking lot surrounded
By the smell of cheap perfume, gasping for air,
I'd actually climbed 2 flights of stairs,
And the man who brought us to the garage
Told me that my poor baby, my poor sweet car
Was to be left in there for more than a week,
She'd sprung a leak and the doctor was saying
So much that I wish he'd just not even speak,
Cursed old man, watch when you drink the beers!
The double trouble had turned into a smashing spiral,
My banged up car was so good through the years,
It made my boring reclusive life seem so meaningful.

When she's new
everything's perfect.

Sometimes early
on you have stall-
outs

A few here
and there
isn't
really a
big deal.

It happens
to us all.

As you learn her
your confidence
grows and you
learn how she
likes it
and how she
likes your style.

You need
to listen to her
she will tell you
when it's too fast
or too slow.

When you held on
too long
or were too slow
to let go.

The stench of your abuse
will fill your
nostrils

make you sick
to your stomach
and when she starts
screaming,
but not going anywhere

you'll smell this in
her words.

One day, soon
she will break
because of you
because that's how she's
made

But in about ten
hours, one thousand
or so dollars later

She will be
like new
again.

She will be

Perfect.

I call
my white  97 Saturn
Moby.
243,000 miles.
She is
the most
constant woman
in my life,
ever.
Ah, true love...
- mce

It's hard to say,
You can't really tell.
I hope you have insurance
I wish you well.

When you get this note,
know that I'm an honest guy,
just send me a text
and I'm sure
my insurance will
set you up right.

yes I do have insurance.
actually, it lapsed last Tuesday

if life was like a carnival
and we drove on the road like we were in bumper cars
wouldn't we adapt to live in a place like that?
a place where the cars crash and slide into each other
a place where you shoot a target with a real gun and take it with you as a prize
a place where going into a haunted funhouse could mean the end of your life
should a creepy clown venture close enough?
wouldn't we adapt?

Foul machines with fiery tails
blaze over land laid to rest.
Together they to flow like thick
blood through the clogged arteries of
tar lined cracks in crumbling rock.
Beating to the rhythm of the urban
environments manufactured soul.

Breath in to taste stale bursts of dead air burning.
Squeal to a stop that grinds out sharp shards of
metallic dust which slowly rise up towards the
clouds within the acidic green ooze that
evaporates from down in the depths of
mechanical guts.

Compulsive addicts on a distracted journey
drive these impatient beasts to flinch at
each other while they hunt.
Thirsty to ignite another
drink of life’s ancient remains.

Consume these fresh lands filled with life to
leave a heartless trail of twisted wreckage
laced with the rotting bodies of
anything caught in the wake.

I hear a motor
In my head,
Cranking, moaning,
Turning, turning...
Nearly dead.

I have an onion
In my head;
Has it a seed
I can embed.
So I keep
Peeling, peeling...

I have a pencil
In my head,
An HB2
With blunted lead,
Scratching on
A blank cortex,
Itching to put
Thought to text.
Scratching, scratching...

I have dough
Inside my head,
Needing kneading
Just like bread.
When it's baked
Sliced and spread,
I'll serve it up
Outside my head.

I find as I sit,
upon this isolated curb.
Flashes pass me,
at exceeding speeds.
I see a girl,
She rushes over to me,
worried and concerned.

As I try regain my thoughts,
She slowly begins to ponder.
'What are you doing here'
No longer could I hold in
'I'm stuck in this torment,
these flashing lights are blinding me, dazing me, but worst of all they're continuously haunting me'

As I hold in the tears in which I have already wept,
she grabs my hand.
Always asserting,
all will be well.
After tears for what seems like hours. I notice the flashes are gone.
The woman takes my hand, and proceeds to take me away from this cursed highway towards her car,
until I get lost again