a new poem

between you, me and the freeway

we meditate between spaces between chords in sweat drenched shirts once bought
a punk rock show, our mantra a riot a storm our message
i hit 120 on the freeway but don't feel free.

the graffiti reads "we live in chaos"
reminded of hitting bitcherman as a child, my knees bleed
now a man in two ton of steel, so close to the barrier.

imagine hitting 150, the car in front, that last breath
the same freeway. the same suburbs where we live and die in.
the same stores. the same brands. the same dreams of dying.

memories of Croatia replaced by advertising injected into 80 something veins
i cannot escape the noise, she cannot see the sea. a storm water drain.

the audience is the prison because i don't listen
and all we have to talk about is TV
the audience is the prison because i don't listen
and all we have to talk about is TV

there is no they. only you and me.

29/01/08