leaving the city      I get on the same freeway
that usually takes me      around the city --
on the wide belts of concrete      fringed with buildings
where all my attention      goes to the ratios
of speeding metal      and expanding cement
I don't notice      the city thinning
into the countryside --      it's only signaled
by the time it takes      to get from one exit to another
I don't start to notice      trees fields and grass
till I'm out of the county --      coming into the city
is the same in reverse:      the drive through the greenery
ends in expanded concrete      from which I emerge
inside the city --      it gets me where I'm going --
a week ago      Pam rode her bike
from here to Chicago      My Lady and I
drove down the same day      bringing Sarah with us --
when we met her at Abdalah's      she'd been there for hours
had gotten drunk      and sat on the floor
telling screwy jokes      and hugging her daughter
she didn't want to talk      about the ride
though she was exhilarated      completely delighted
and that had nothing to do      with what she'd been drinking
¨was it the exertion      the sense of accomplishment --
I like to imagine      that part of the fun
was the sense of environment      changing around her
one city melting away      as her speed increased
then the long fast run      through open country
then a new city      growing around her
suburban houses      giving way to those of the north shore
palatial miniatures      giving way to apartment buildings
interspersed with theaters      restaurants and night clubs
growing into the sky scrapers      approaching the loop
a whole city      growing slowly around her
the enormous complexity      of human diversity
still radiating around her      as she sat on the floor
way up in a highrise --      from the highrise bridge
over the industrial valley      I can see the city
stretch from the western horizon      to the shore of the lake
before plunging back into the city      at National Ave.
and the concrete maze that'll drop me      into the countryside
on the road to Chicago      I've never traveled on foot

@

midnight sunday      driving from New York City
to Jeffersonville      both of us
falling asleep      don't think of sleep
everything's closed      haven't got any coffee
or cafinated soda      don't think of sleep
can't find a station      on the radio
don't think of sleep      try to talk
nothing to say      don't think of sleep
try to sing      can't
don't think of sleep      tell ourselves
don't think of sleep      can't
no other cars on the road      just endless pavement
don't think of sleep      sleep awaits us
don't think of sleep      rehearse tomorrow
our heads bob      don't think of sleep
sing      energy is eternal delight
if we stay awake      we'll see
the greatest of miracles      around that curve
don't think of sleep      sing
of ammonia and razors      of sulfur and high pitched sounds
don't think of sleep      sing
the car is a submarine      under the north pole
don't think of sleep      sing
the road is a snake      we're approaching its head
its head will turn on us      don't think of sleep
sing      the night is a factory
the car is a drop forge      the road is hot metal
dozing is a buzz      an electric itch
sleep will be      an electric shock
don't think of sleep      we shake ourselves
sing      sleep is a nightmare
we're riding the nightmare      don't think of sleep
sing      singing will end
this drive will end in sleep      don't think of sleep

@

Quetzalcoatl      roars in our tires
the hard rubber ball      of the sun and moon
passes back and forth      in the court of heaven
men become gods      throwing the ball
between day and night      the losers die
the winners are sacrificed      the gods are replaced
the game goes on      my tires are filled
with compressed air      trying to explode
hurricanes spin      trapped in our wheels
Quetzalcoatl      god of winds
roars in my tires      their rubber evolved
from the sun in heaven      sun growing in trees
sun trapped underground      the sun in hell
the road itself --      the sign and the name of this age
is 4-Olin
              
                                 movement      earthquake
the rolling of hordes      the game in the court
divides into night and day      into red and black
              
earth's axle      runs through the court's center
lubricated by the players' blood      our wheels
spin through steel stars      rings of bearings
the players on the night's team --      without these tires
our steel wheels      couldn't go faster
than ten miles an hour      if they tried
the earth would destroy them      and rattle the car's parts
into a shower      of interchangeable pieces
they burned rubber balls      as a potent incense
we sacrifice ourselves      winners and losers
in the smell of rubber incense      the ball moves
Quetzalcoatl's breath      gave life to the world
Quetzalcoatl's breath      runs into the wheels of hell
Quetzalcoatl's breath      kills the sun at night
Quetzalcoatl's breath      roars in our tires
our tires unite      heaven and earth
the snake eats its tail      their surface is endless
the wheel of the sun      runs into the wheels of hell
the hard rubber ball      passes back and forth
in the court of heaven      the name of this age
is 4-Olin      the four wheels of the age
roll it toward      its inevitable conclusion
it will end in an earthquake      the rolling of hordes
Quetzalcoatl presides      over the ball court
over the days and years      over our speed
Quetzalcoatl      roars in my tires
the world will end      when Tezcatlipoca
flying his giant black Cadillac      steals the ball
out of the sky      Quetzalcoatl
will roar in the tires      of Tezcatlipoca's car

@

the clock on the dashboard      shows five minutes later
than the watch on my wrist      time goes faster
as it passes      ¿ is there some formula to measure
the acceleration      of time through your life
like the rate of acceleration      of falling bodies --
when I was a kid      a year lasted forever
as a young man      a year went by faster
but the time in front of me      always seemed limitless
time enough      to do everything I wanted --
at middle age      half way through
my predictable lifespan      I seem to be moving
faster than the speed of light      faster
than time itself      hurtling through events
I can't grasp --      friends I seem to have talked to yesterday
have been dead for years      every day
I can get less done      ¿ will this acceleration continue
will I be able to stand the pressure      of time rushing through me
what cosmic force      what harnessing of white giants
could slow this down --      my car
is space ship enough      what I can do in my lifetime
constantly grows smaller      there's a galaxy
between my watch      and the clock on the dashboard

@

I don't know how many      drive-ins I've passed
since the last time      I watched a movie in one
it's been many years      and I've passed quite a few
deserted in daytime      huge luminous screens
presiding over hordes      of anonymous cars
miming fragments of stories      that rose quickly and vanished
when I passed them at night --      tonight we arrived
just as the last streaks      of blue and red light
faded to black in the west      turned off our headlights
as we went through the maze      that lead to the rows
of slanted ground      each staked out with speakers on poles
at ten foot intervals --      other drivers
honked their horns      just like they did
when I was in high school      like metallic birds
lauding the evening star --      the movies we watched
were completely ridiculous      just like their predecessors
one about children      who turned into monsters
whose fingernails glowed      after being exposed
to radioactive gas      the other a story
of cops and robbers      chasing each other
through intricate freeways      and labyrinthine streets --
we joked at their antics      assumed the personae
of the actors we saw      making skits of our own
using the movies as springboards      for our own private theater
inside our car --      other viewers
sat on their hoods      or in portable lounge chairs
or roamed between cars --      all of life's stages
were being enacted      under the dim reflections
of the giant screen      the restlessness of kids
just before puberty      ambient between cars and refreshment stand
those a bit older      necking in their cars
or behind the projection booth      rehearsing for the next stage
those in their later teens      engaged in seminal union
in the awkward positions      a car can demand
at the back of the lot      also rehearsing
perhaps without knowing      that they would soon be
the couples with kids      who sat on their parents' rooves
or played on the monkey bars      beside the concession stand
or fell asleep in the backs      of station wagons
who would some day become      middle aged people
who returned for nostalgia      to this microcosm
of the world run by cars      and their video dreams --
we make better use      of our cars and their dream
in a place like this      than we would in theaters
or out on the freeway or back at home      here the interactions
of life cars and movies      take place together
instead of sequentially      here the privacy and freedom
basic to cars      get put to full use --
it had started to rain      just before the end of the show
we saw the credits      through drops on the windshield
joined the winding procession      as the downpour began
and as we drove down the road      lightning sent jagged lines
through the distant sky      and as we drove on
flat sheets of light      fell over the world
and returned it to darkness      as soon as they fell

@

Dia de los Muertos -- 1981

now that autumn's      getting sharper
it's just the time      to visit junkyards
brown leaves underfoot      smell of burnt leaves
seeming to emerge      from crannies of air
and fast as they're scented      slip into nothingness
or into the smell of rust      all this brown metal
is burning more slowly      but still in sympathy
with the changing season      taking in oxygen
flaking in pieces      waiting for rebirth
in some other form --      miscellaneous pieces
-carbs and bumpers      camshafts and radiators-
form a groundwork      for the remains of whole cars
the remains of the dreams      of hoards of people
many dead many forgotten --      all our hopes and our efforts
our aspirations and failures      remain in these skeletons:
how much love      went into that Mercury
how many years of work      went into that Camaro
how frugal was that Beetle      how homey that Rambler
how sporty that Triumph      how aggressive that Buick
o mighty Lincoln      how proud you were in your day --
¿ could these cars      intercede for us
on this Day of the Dead --      the cars themselves
know our hearts and our needs      our intimate secrets
and loudest cries      ¿ did they die without sin --
whatever they did      they're our testament
I'll leave a sugar skull      on one of their hoods

@