Easter's child — the soundtrack
(for Mike)

Read aloud


A hood ornament modeled on a beautiful woman
flattened in an historic crash
now displaced, preserved 2D
no longer shown to strangers.


I am a snapshot on your seat
Drive the past like that:


A passenger who cannot speak
(There is no mouth where lines of shadow
curve into the laugh you hear anew)
with tunes
the words the tears the speed and smells
of wind of hair,
You shift and corner well.


The screen is set — It is the glass on every side,
The shot's your head and eye.
Like Shakespeare you can stage the scene in Egypt or New York:
It is the same — to risk the loss of sanity
becoming Sane.


Compelled to listen you direct the world, yourself
to music heard alone, thus watch
(and drive) each time reborn.