Sometimes AIR has a distinctive pulse
you can FEEL in your ears.

Not like bolt of thick chromed lightning
that almost cracks your mental windshield.
Not that at all. Its more like
Synaptic Frost or Fire
Power; like a sub-atomic shower of
See-Thru
Greens & Pinks.
And just when you think...Quarks! She suddenly disrupts the metrics:
"I think we're being squashed into hard blocks of Non-being;
Into mindless abdicates,
As it were,
to the task of our own slow motion collapsing back into simpler Euclidian dimensions."

"And when it's perfectly windless", she says,
"Our souls are folded neatly into ever diminishing sheets of fine thin linen."

Suddenly, I remembered my mother once tried to poison me with gasoline, from a Coke bottle, meant for the lawnmower.

So I said,

"I'd rather my head were a Fresh Orange Engine block from a 1971 Buick Skylark,
with cold blue Halogen headlights for eyes."
Something to be said for in-animation.

White crosses fly by on the night.

They say Lester and Dusty died back there, now 2 miles back;
got themselves gnarled up on a long-gone guardrail, they said.
The Long Black Snake just ate 'em up.
There wasn't even enough Lester and Dusty left to bury.

Cheryl ceremoniously tosses the pale
yellow symbols
of Aspiration
(I'd found for her)
from my
Swerving Red Convertible,
correctly guessing,
I'd never stop driving my M e r c u r y through her
clouds.