notes from a waking

you can always tell who was in the accident as you drive by.

I love the laugh of full laughers
or my hips inside yours, cruising and shooting and fucking in the movie
the fit of the fittest
roaming the roam of the passing white lines
tumbleweeds
speed limit signs
telephone wires and a now distant roadside fire

on the elevens I don’t talk much
liking the places inbetween, all mine

a night’s slip papercut
a groovy open
a wish for a bad movie of the week
hours and hours repeat like a bad movie on an airplane

you have failed to notice that waves come in sets

you stop and wait for your ghost to catch up. fruit still hangs on the vines. he does not look like you. he is lighter, not as small. yet you are the same. waves spill over the highway.
spill over you say to your ghost.
then ask are you following me.
he looks out towards the water. the sun’s reflection splits the ocean. sympathetic mist settles into a sympathetic longing. you feel time speed up. he glances furtively your way.
you got a haircut
yeah
it’s strange the things we notice sometimes
he is slipping behind again. this can be felt. you envy him. the light off the water shines greener in your eyes, but you envy him.