Travel

© 2004 Sean Kilpatrick
All rights reserved.

Crops tapeworm
the leftover height
of days rolling...

We tug, motorized,
through: Graveyard, Mississippi,
Autopsy Fingernails, Kansas,
Bowelled an Open Inch,
in Suspension.

Our velocity is diabetic.
We are the headache of unrinals.

Our eyes,
sepia recollection of dust,

inching the clouds
slowly into boredom.

The policemen
sit on porches
in short sleeves.

Their women paw
gazelle-slit dresses.

Billboards trophy
our grammas
with gasoline
until they are
a terrarium
of bleeding labia.

And when the busman
declares his diarrhea cargo
in a state of martial law,

the world
is not worth
seeing
from above
or
any
way.

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