untitled

i think up
the best things
when I’m
driving

really, think up
isn’t right
i don’t think
anything

it’s just like…
bugs appear
on the blank blank
windshield
flattened like
they’re letterpressed,
stupid winged
little chapbooks

it’s only
without traffic
that they
won’t bounce
away
which is
the best time
for me
anyway
it’s fucked up
but I have
realized that
this is what
calms me
this gray
naugahyde yoga mat
these adjustable
vents deep breaths

in my mind
i am so elegantly
cross-legged
but my
right foot is
always pressing
down—

it is so
easy to crush
the throat of
every
living thing

i’m meditating
on dead dinosaurs at chevron
it’s the
best
i’ve felt