I’m carsick and driving naked.
I’m driving backwards across America,
up to my hubcaps in primordial sands.
I’m my own personal detour.

We’ve set fire to the origami road map.
By reading the entrails of roadkill
I divine a sublime presence,
a god of the tarmac,
its ‘heaven’ a car crash,
a roadblock its limbo.

I’m speeding hellwards.
We’re between two destinations,
one pulling, the other pulling.
The road is a cut,
the mathematical sign for subtraction.
I’m laying down rubber.
I’m drinking as well.

It’s night. I’m driving
blind with the lights out,
Trapezium swinging overhead,
the stars to guide me.
It’s morning, the sun shining
directly into my eyes.
Behind us, everything
worth leaving behind.
Up ahead, an odd symbol
that represents a hitch-hiker.

Drive faster, she said.
And I drove much faster.