horizontal expansion

i wanted so badly to be like a dancer

each movement seemed invisible to the next

or tom Verlaine stretched languidly long

but i always, always looked

undeniably Girl in tight jeans

in the muggy blanket of a summer overstaying its welcome

otherwise defined as a fall holding onto the dregs of irresponsibility

i dreamt i climbed on the back of a motorcycle you drove

tapped out a rhythm to a song we both knew on your hips

fingers bony, elegant in leather; hair short, spiky enough

to jut out beyond the helmet and scratch at the back of my neck

it’s a good dream but sometimes the scene switches so that

i get to step on the gas

i feel powerful no matter the tragedy that are my belt loops

and does that really make a difference and to whom?

at my most effortful i could never have kept up the illusion if someone peered closed enough

and at my laziest it’s like i’m almost inviting them to scrutinize

important not to leave unsaid - my haircut is the best I’ve gotten in 23 years

and i don’t make a scene when it’s my turn at the wheel

wired in

last night as we stepped out of the uber
she laughed when i said the smooth noiseless glide of the Tesla 

made me more motion sick than the buzzing engines i’m used to 

but more than that the quiet of not knowing when someone
is about the turn the corner is so terribly frightening;
must we gravitate towards slick silence when
it’s more difficult than ever to just be heard?
after theory there’s practice which is why C and K
tossed their smartphones off a bridge and cheered
it kinda felt like watching memory drown.

for a while i thought that was cool but i need music to walk anywhere 

also i like being connected to you and
  i like that our friends can see me smiling down at the screen
  if i’m being entirely perfectly honest though;

the most tuned in i’ve felt is sitting on a rumbling train

surrounded by strangers who know nothing about each other

except the end destination.