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the radio. Close my eyes. Dive into
the music as best I can. Ride the metal
current. None of this makes sense.
The only thing about myself I know
for sure is that I don’t know anything.
OFF-KILTER
Canted. Listing
to one side,
a rotting hull.
Nothing will ever
be the same in
my world—careful
order
twisted.
Tossed
into chaos.
I don’t even
know how to
feel about that.
Relieved?
Terrified?
Hopeful?
Suicidal?
How does
this define
(or redefine)
me?
WELL PAST MIDNIGHT
We stop for sleep in Las Cruces.
New Mexico is supposed to be
