After some wine
I walk home past cars parked neatly
lined up neat and shiny
lit by vapor street lights
Mercedes VWs
Toyotas Volvos Hondas BMWs
Cadillacs Fords Dodge Caravans
Chrysler Pacificas
If I had a sharp scribe I would
write longs lines of poetry on them, their
pristine surfaces waiting for me.
I would cover them like the walls of the
Alhambra, covered with
mystical messages twined around
each other, messages only the
initiated can decipher
And then drivers would come and marvel
enter their vehicles
then drive away spreading my message
across the city
leaving it untouched until
rotting metal, car bodies transported
To a junkyard, miraculously they congeal
each car piled one on the
other the message re-inked
and re-linked and finally understood
while they wait to be smelted in furnaces.
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