On the road vision tunnels -
tepidly real in the lukewarm light

in the blink of an eye you could be
sliding
slick and hemorraging so that it
pours over one side of your view
an oily retinal blockage

One shaky hand on the wheel & the other
figmented
static

Foot on the accelerator is not a feeling
or truth -
not a state of the world more than
a hope that it remains this way -
this unreachable limb - under my
control -

God runs each machine as long as
it does.
Every breakdown is a mourned ascension.