I'm driving an electric car but I'm pouring gasoline out the window,
six miles later, we were thirsty indeed.
Fueley breath reakin' up the road,
smell that putrid perfume.
It reminds me of my first kiss:
wet and off the mark.
Where are you right now?
I picture you a small town policeman,
toting your bright-stick
and soul-cuffs,
still siphoning unleaded on your lunch break,
the littlest biggest secret in town.
And how does that make you feel?
Ace in the hole that fails self-assessments.
The starkness of your solitude drains my blood,
but then again you might be a Mormon polygamist,
breaking boys' bones and
leaving moms as sisters.
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