Roadkill: you can only say so much in two-dimensions

ROAD TRIP
for Jim Smith

Road in the passenger seat
belt across its yellow-dashed middle

Is it those who have no walls
have no house or no tongue?

Blood flows only in or out of the heart
until something happens

I’ve only travelled
this one road, Road says
and we all know where that goes

The moon is the hot breath of a dog on our tail
night a collapsed lung
wheezing from over the bruise-closed horizon

and my eyes are shut tight like History
Biology or shop class which
was all about fingers
spinning out of control

Mother is mixing something
coal dust and flapjacks, maybe
rocketfuel and Father’s pension

Roadkill: you can only say
so much in two-dimensions
Road says