Will this ride never end?
Bending, the boulevard is a constant aquarium
raining traffic lights, caged store windows,
steps empty of people & that all
presses against moments.

Who’s leaving? In transit? What’s left
behind? Ahead,
the driver’s shoulders, silence is
comfort, (anonymous hands, gloved leather,
the slim pony-tailed neck),
not scrutinizing a thing.

Then why is everything so transparent-----
the seat, doors, gadgets, a kind of plastic
grey-blurred silvery by motion-----

Hurry up please (will) maybe the radio (you crank)
maybe (crank it) get me out of these (he’s back there)
reflective mute blue (I know it) profiles of clarity
(sleeping, his) cascading like petals from (breathing, our)
some knocked over bowl (love is) there is... (leaves)
plastering gutters (my) gurgling (head, heart is)
tires glass a sizzle (a rhythm)
the pavement its cans (litter) perfect passing lamps
(lover, I’m giving you) somewhere above the roof (to this)
luminous with (journey) goodbyes

A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is an Outsider multi-media artist and writer. Since the 1990s he’s been grateful to many editors for publishing his work in print zines and eventually online. He is also grateful to have managed to keep various day jobs in Health Insurance. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead. For links to his other media (and even merchandise if you are interested) please feel free to Google Stephen Mead Art. Currently he is artist/curator for an Historical LGBTQI site in progress, The Chroma Museum. You can donate to his paypal here.