Awake: the white hand of my benefactor drums on the seat between us. The world had become orange in the rearview mirror of a '55 Pontiac. The road was covered with bugs and mist coiled around great house-sized rocks and in the distance buried them. Village. Passed three limp gas stations then one whose windows exploded with fire. My mouth was filled with plastic cups. Final item: breakfast, nurtured by a miraculous hatred. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING WIND IN LONDON by KATHERINE MANSFIELD ALL RELIGIONS ARE ONE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS [MAY 9, 1775] by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT LAMENT FOR [THE DEATH OF] THOMAS DAVIS by SAMUEL FERGUSON ROUGE BOUQUET [MARCH 7, 1918] by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER SATIRE: 1. TO JOHN POYNZ (POINS) by THOMAS WYATT |