reflected on the back of a highway sign,
white street-lights shone on the steel,
the hiss of tires on asphalt. Is this what i wanted?
The overpass flutters with ribbons tied to the grate,
some memorial, a dead student or a teacher.
Fluorescent white and orange;
it's 7pm, july ninth.
The summer beats down from the setting sun,
dipping into the volcanoes, disappeared. Is this what i wanted?
the breeze is cool, then hot, then cool.
The fall from here wouldn't even break my legs. The hiss of tires on asphalt. Is this what i wanted? Is this what you wanted?
The cars that pass cant see me, too high up,
in the corners of their windshields.
The years i've pressed in between the pages of a high school yearbook, corsages dried, crumbling after school clubs. I wonder if i miss them.
Thunderheads, black, ash like,
collect behind the mountains, drawing nearer, nearer.
The sun doesn't disappear until 10 o'clock these days, and i rarely sleep. Is this what i wanted? Is it?
I crushed purple flower petals beneath my feet, stamping them into the pavement of the sidewalk, fossils that the rain will wash away. Pigeon shit spatters the floor here;
if i climb over the grate, the drivers beneath will surely see me. Maybe they'll point. Is this what i wanted?