No Escape

 

Windows down, I drive through cacophonous caws. Was it Sharp Shinned
that made a kill or were they surprised by Icarus' nth nose-dive?
This is the documentary of fancies, title burning brightly upon imagination's
marquee. Noted, then relegated to the backseat where groceries go.
Forgotten as thrills or love notes fallen, kicked under a seat, out of mind.
Sometimes, I wish I lived in your soul's Lost and Found not needing to be found.
No pen forgets the possible or when eyes first met. Love is as lost as the wind's soliloquy.
I care, but I don't, long for closure yet hope for a dummy-downed, super-sized high and
a chauffeur, heavy footed, to whisk me through the tunnel to forget being born or
wondering what day I will die. The sun will slip below horizon
without prologue or punch line and I, a crepuscular footnote,
will become one among night.