convertible sportscar

where i drive
ink climbs palms
the scars of burn
from the dry season
and waist high scrub
hides dangerous ferals
perfectionist patient
predators, slurping
their dripping
chops
small birds
peck and follow
sharpest of teeth
they dive bomb
fearless
like smoke rings
mid-day, tell
exactly
where
you
are
rising hieroglyphics
screech their blood
to a greedy halt
you might
wanna
get
out 
of 
here
leave them behind
on immokalee road
with me, with me
i'll blindfold
you, passenger
from my transgressions
roiling in the transmission
like oily-sinful thoughts
speeding and texting
McDonalds  fries
a Coke, secret
swallows of 
medicine
don't
count
me 
or 
call
me
out
i'm 
pushing 
with  force
getting us 
totally 
lost
let's sing over that foul
crying in-side reality
cracking our glass
consciences 

feathers on tar
wheels flaming

great blue heron, just go
you're stinging the nettles

she said,
put your pants 
in the shyer
i've got 
nothing
clean

just kidding.

close enough.

***edit: this is the car, parked just off immokalee***
convertible

14 thoughts on “convertible sportscar

  1. let’s sing over that foul
    crying in-side reality
    cracking our glass
    consciences ….dang…this is a wicked wild ride…seriously would love to hear it performed…you have a penchant for intriguing imagery….texting mcdonalds fries….ha….but it fits where you are in it…what a rip!

    • thank you, fine sir! means a lot, sincerely. i’ve never been “out there” with writing, but have been doing it incessantly since i was 15, so the feedback feels really foreign and nice. slowly, but surely, i’m liberating this weirdo.

  2. Another incredible piece, girl. I especially love these lines:

    “where i drive / ink climbs palms” Okay, so this says worlds to me. Like this is a metaphorical road trip, but you drive through poems rather than actual roads. Normally, ink flows from your hands (holding a pen) down to the paper. But here, the ink is climbing backwards, moving from the page up to your hands. So I guess you’re reading rather than writing, and the ink is “infecting” your bloodstream. Of course, palms are also trees so maybe you’re in Florida. And “ink” might just be dark colors, oil, or pollution taking over beauty and nature. Perhaps you’re beginning the poem this way to illustrate that you drive in a dangerous area. And then I read the next two lines, and it’s all explained. 😉 Fire consumes trees.

    “hides dangerous ferals
    perfectionist patient
    predators, slurping” I love the words “feral” and “slurping,” and I like that “patient” has multiple meanings.

    “i’ll blindfold
    you, passenger
    from my transgressions” The word “passenger” usually reminds me of Dexter. So now I’m wondering if the speaker is planning to kill the passenger. 🙂 I LOVE that this could say, “I’ll blindfold you, Passenger” or “I’ll … passenger from my transgressions” That is fantastic! So now I’m realizing that someone else is driving you (wearing a blindfold) and you’re riding, anywhere but here, to escape yourself. To escape from yourself. To (you, yourself) escape.

    “a coke secret” Ha! So not only is the driver blindfolded, but you’re both snorting cocaine. Good golly, this is a dangerous trip!

    “swallows of medicine” I think there’s a lot of meaning in this as well. Swallows—other than liquid/masticated food going down the throat—are birds. So are the birds, then, medicine? Or is it only the food and drink? I see more.

    I like the doubling you did with “don’t count” As in, secret swallows don’t count. But also, don’t count me … out.

    I love the sound in this: “cracking our glass consciences” cracking/glass, cracking/consciences

    “in the shyer / i’ve got / nothing / clean” Love this. Depending on which words you put together to make phrases, there could be so many interpretations in this stanza. I could write a paper just on the last stanza.

    • Hehe.. Pants in the shyer was for you, for the pants challenge you gave me. Your analysis is killer, as usual. Ps: coke is coca cola, but coke sounds more sinister- nice. I am addicted to McDonald’s coke and fries, cause I’m classy like that.

      • Oh yeah, I definitely recognized the “put my pants on” line. But I was just analyzing the poem without “knowing” that little tidbit. 🙂

        I also knew you were really just talking about your daily fries and coke trip. But I like to make stuff up, just for fun. Hee hee. Keep it interesting, right?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s