riding back seat without the driver

driving down the eisenhower,
6:27am and 43 minutes from the bed,
23 minutes from sunrise
with bach on the radio
reminding me how each minute
is more of the same,
but with subtle difference.
a crucifix with a porcelain-like
female head (in center)
hangs from review mirror,
dancing with each turn,
swaggering with each brake
while god laughs, riding shotgun
the whole way;
a cold winter laugh
because i don't even know this
figure in crucifix,
this old woman saddened like glass
not yet transparent
with eyes behind it.
quite the legacy
for a mortal to be trapped in,
this head of some family's history
caught on the cross
and god laughing ironically
because we pain ourselves
the most.


we swagger and
we sway 'til
we don't even know where we started,
swinging from mirrors
captured by our own vanity
given up by a hair dresser
in buffalo grove
with a fresh nose job
fearing the tip of the crucifix;
again, god laughs,
because the passenger seat
to our own free will
is a show of its own.

anti-pro

a loud canned recording
and bad jazz in my ear,
dancing dull layouts
of rainy day behind my eye
and slipping in suggestion
to buy the american dream,
throw a flag on my back
and ride
like a caped patriot
in the political sunrise -
hat and all.

i'd rather take my chance
in the rain
surrounded by annoying voices
and a saxophone that doesn't belong,
standing in time
with life to live
with life to love