The speedo’s needle sat on 140
I never mentally adjusted, though;
I felt every one of those
kilometres per hour
My right hand out the window
cutting sine waves in the air
You had your headphones on
listening to tape one
in a ten volume series
deep in the thrall
of some jacked up new age preacher
who mixed his metaphors
three, four times over
and made up his own words
where language failed him
he told you:
your body’s a conduit
for
the universe’s flux
of energy
and desire
That night, in a roadhouse motel
I reaped the rewards of your preacher’s words
Afterwards
I pictured his
smug, goateed face
his eyes and mouth
unified
in a shit-eating grin
I went outside
into the night, the desert stars were
densely packed and brilliant
I laid out the tapes
on the 96 mile straight
and a road train
obliterated them
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