WRITING WITH YANNIS:
Reached Oxford in the early hours bleary behind the wheel.
Men cut metal at midnight, cascading sparks into blacktop,
tiny luminous daggers, eyes behind glass, making art for
no one beneath the glow of a half-moon sky sail drowning
in cloud. Am I asleep or awake? Did I die out here on the
road? Turn the radio up loud until it’s boring, slip
Led Zeppelin in the CD, Jimi’s rude guitar makes me feel
alive, I want to eat it. Fuzz pedal fantasies behind
the wheel of a speeding box of glass & metal under the
blind-eye gaze of cameras, festering behind the tail lights
of middle lane hoggers, lumbering long-hailers,
head on straight between the white lines.