Small gods

Oh it's this old feeling again-
yawning in the backseat of the car.
Nodding to the beat of a brother careening through
sticky blackness and roaring.

I wake up at 8:15 and vomit a few galaxy clusters.
Alpha Centauri was much more exquisite
going down then coming up.

Monarch of the Glen

Gliding through the portico of
some forgotten rolling hills in
some highlands nearly as misplaced.
I heft The Walker's Guide to Scotland
in my right hand and remember that you never returned
my copy of Beowulf.

I guess it doesn't matter overmuch
but still

I think I'll stick a steak knife
in your left eye
the next time I see you.