driving into monday By Scott Ferry

the clouds open at the end of this tunnel / like the speck of light at the end of a steel tube / the way vonnegut describes human vision according to the tralfamadorians / the olympic mountains in a far away flame / icy diamonds ripping open the dawn / wild horses cover by the sundays playing / we’ll ride them some day / there is heaven at the end of that suffering / we are supposed to hope for something running away from us / in this vehicle eating oils of long dead things / coughing out smoke / lurching toward a promise / the eyes get hooked in the shimmer / the road is always longer / the songs are sad because the horses always escape / the condition of moving in a darkness toward a brilliant death / where everything is lost / and everything is grasped when the body fails / but then it is too late to go back and tell the man the child in the rainwetted sarcophagus / that they are already god / that the wait was an illusion / holy swindlers selling books / all sickfingered time and plot devices / that the myth of chasing was a ruse / that heaven is the place we are / a plate of half-eaten pancakes / a cat yowl in the mirror to the boy grinning in the back / and his tooth diamonded meow in return / a laugh and spark / a ripping open of the tunnels of steel / a wide wide shine on the wheel in my hands

Scott Ferry writes things. He is a RN in the Seattle area. His latest books are The Long Blade of Days Ahead and Midnight Glossolalia (with Lillian Necakov and Lauren Scharhag). More of his work can be found at ferrypoetry.com.