Today I wrote a poem about Texas. It was therapeutic I guess. The poem doesn't make any sense, really. I had a dream about Texas several months ago. Last night was awful, I would do almost anything to get it out of my head. I'd even write a strange poem about Texas. I'll share it with you:
He hates Texas
You wouldn't know it to look at him.
There is no bumper sticker on his car,
or flag in his yard.
Only the way he thinks.
And the way he thinks,
is that he hates Texas
Carl - that is his name.
He has a mother and a father,
they live in Texas
That's not why he hates it.
He loves his family,
he even has a job!
In Texas
Yes, Carl lives in Texas
He lives in Amarillo
He hates big things,
and he really likes small things.
That's not right in Texas
One day he walks to his car
after work. Piles himself inside.
The ignition turns, he wonders
what it's like in Vermont
of year.
Muscle memory,
checking mirrors and looking for cars.
He sees the car
that will hit him in less than a second.
Metal and glass, his car bends
in a way that was not intended
by the manufacturer.
He is a real live crash test dummy.
His head. Snaps to the side.
And hits that little plastic piece
that connects the seat belt to the car.
Glass is falling all around him,
like snow flakes falling on a nighttime lake.
Carl is not dead. He knows this is bad,
but he can't feel a single thing.
His senses are turned off!
Thank God, because this would hurt.
But then, blood in his mouth
And he can feel every single piece
of glass that is resting on his body,
poking into his body.
And his head.
He knows his head will never be the same.
15 months go by,
and Carl has a scar on his face,
in the shape of Texas
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