The Imaginer

Sometimes when the rain hits
Texoma Parkway just right and
The paltry neon glances off the rain-
Soaked asphalt and a gentle drizzle
Hangs in air, refracting darkness, then
I am in LA or Tokyo, driving and
Pursued for some great secret.

Sometimes when the fog hits
The QuikTrip just right and
The last car pulls away until
There is just me and a sausage and a
Diet Dew in halogen darkness, then
I tighten my trenchcoat against the cold as
The camera slowly pans up the
Impossible six seven nine twelve thirteen floors of
The hospital across the street and
There is a man in a dark suit taking my
Picture through a telephoto lens.

Sometimes when the clouds hit
Just right and cover the country
Road I live off of and smite
The stars and eer the darkling way, then
I check my rearview as I make the hairpin curve, for
There should not be headlights behind
Me as I careen.

Sometimes when I pass through
Night’s prism just right and
The mind’s eye sees what the body’s may not and
The spirit hears the words the flesh can’t utter and
Fatigue snuffs out all light save one internal spark then
I am all of me.