wheels

it is 10 p.m.,
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.

i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.

but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.

my ankles turn to antifreeze
and my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."

on i spin
and on it sings
though we're losing steam
we joyride into traffic
to end where we begin

the time is now
the motor says
to fade out of commission
but i only long for a collision
so from a croon
i might explode
into a ballad.

"do everything that's right,"
the motor purrs.
"pleasant dreams
pleasant dreams
pleasant dreams."

there is no fear,
just desire:
a vision of skid marks,
and broken glass,
that shatters soundlessly,
somehow.

it is a dream of dreams
where pleasant dreams run silent
and even nightmares' tongues are tied

the windshield wipers whisper
as they move,
but they are the only things that move now,
and the only things that speak.

i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars

or headlights?

that is why
empty roads are deadly
more deadly than a cairo highway

that is why
we will end up in a junkyard
though i expect a graveyard

because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.