Favilla and I (Part 7)

The Three - Section A

Pulls down the shades
Wipes the black from flushed cheeks
Miracles etched out on wrist
Newspaper lying idle at the door
I start the engine
Press on the gas
Gripping the steering wheel I spit
Into the eyes of the Utah highway
Steady is the rape of the breeze
Carrying ashes into a dream
Prickly Pear Cacti are Mousai
Dancing for Apollo’s favor
(as the river flows)
Favilla hikes up her skirt….
Taking my dry and shaking hands
Summons the parting of nomenclatures
Flavors the pain with honest sin
She screams like the dying desert hare
Tearing into the upholstery
Incisors drawing forth a moan
As I shed a now lost child’s tear
God does not exist in here
That sad old man back at the rest area
Shoes sworn into a lonely journey
Parallel to my corrupted reality…….
Favilla wipes the black from flushed cheeks
And smiles………


~ by ryantyrl on February 2, 2010.

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