Somewhere in Mississippi
current location: my living room.
current mood: hungry
current song: Wolf Parade
Ago through hotel laments of
a star-crossed Louisiana.
Slow ride effluvium motion painters kiss silken skies
and a scenery reel change.
Enter and exit Wayne County,
paper tree graveyards and family villages.
Cities of botanical skyscrapers are elaborated
by the highway bullet accommodating
the neutral ideas of a caffeine paradise.
Through the highway sunsets
and close-curtain sunrises -- morning has a new name.
Green, red, yellow, white, and black -- the rainbow of an asphalt surrealism.
Mystical and silent forests hold the imagination and more,
wandering-n-winding through the possession of a hypnogogic hallucination.
Alabama kisses soulless black rubber with a gust of tonight.
Seemingly endless woods of silk spun arms and legs
host a metropolis of secrete spoken wild things.
A bathroom notice reading close door during use
and six months Santa signs on short-circuit lampposts
pepper Choctaw County with a laborious reality.
Seasonal swamps welcome us to Coffeeville
as a last warning not to eat the gas station sandwiches.
White wash houses from the depression
are like cottontails in the line of fire
while sun bleached shirts thrash in the sobering wind,
hanging for their lives on a clothesline.
Isolated and lonely we draw ourselves across
pinstripe paintings of state highway 84,
penciling in the things we won't remember.
100 empty miles until we find ourselves lost in somewhereville,
where music is the key to the doors we wish to open
and the envelope with the key is but a song away.