finding transcendence
in a '95 ford taurus
is the best i could do

the humble babylon
columbia is no valencia
we're not shakespearean

unfolding maps and
self, i've never cried
so much, either

putting my things back
on a shelf, each like
store-brand soup

after the weekend
sucked our blood, and
buried color from our faces

i feel subterranean.
please leave my
sacred grounds,

it's no cahokia either.
i'm tired of trans
cendence and

road trips. plastic bags
are the most
beautiful thing emptied

of groceries, pneumatic
angels ascending
, logos aside. still,

it's no aether,
but nothing is,
today. i'm in a loop

a clover north of
denver, but it's night
so that doesn't matter.