Un peu de poésie

drive through hell

the people are weary, unhappy and frustrated, the people are

bitter and vengeful, the people are deluded and fearful, the

people are angry and uninventive

and I drive among them on the freeway and they project

what is left of themselves in their manner of driving—

some more hateful, more thwarted than others—

some don’t like to be passed, some attempt to keep others

from passing

—some attempt to block lane changes

—some hate cars of a newer, more expensive model

—others in these cars hate the older cars.

the freeway is a circus of cheap and petty emotions, it’s

humanity on the move, most of them coming from some place they

hated and going to another they hate just as much or

more.

the freeways are a lesson in what we have become and

most of the crashes and deaths are the collision

of incomplete beings, of pitiful and demented

lives.

when I drive the freeways I see the soul of humanity of

my city and it’s ugly, ugly, ugly: the living have choked the

heart

away.