Tales for Teaspoon

i wish that someone else would drive tonight
so that i could really watch the road
and how the miles between mountains and cities
and bodies
begin to melt like margarine in copper pans
and how the desert fills in the blank
and the night sky is one big rorschach test
where it’s impossible not to see butterflies
and how the streetlamps and telephone poles
become marionette strings, and raise
the freeway up to meet the heavens
so that we traverse the black sky like satellites
in the comfort of our own upholstery
through the braille of buggy windshields,
close enough
to make the constellations shy.

The Wheels on the Bus

go round and
white men in black suits
ruffle newspapers like nervous birds
and black men in white suits
appear only on select channels
in high definition
at Best Buy.