10 June 2007

Clouds roll over fiveseventy-one

Fingertips of pressure (pleasure

as he slips from third to fourth

gear) tell of a land

tell of a place: Summertime

and her elusive era of

citronella and stick-shift bruises;

Summertime, and passing cars (those

ships on the horizon) cruising,

that feeling of arrival as

The Limit (as you approach me)

gets pushed, shoved (millimeters

milliseconds of a million-dollar)

smile; Baby, the road goes

rolling on for miles more

past the horizon line