An Early Morning Jaunt

Soul Transportation awaits me on the curb,
but I wasn’t scared or ready so I just didn’t look– it seems to be working.
I find that, in these first trimester hours, I’m the only one moving East,
perhaps I belong at the end of the pier,
where all the vacancy sells it’s sea shells.

But for now, my lemon rambles into small town America
where my wheels have turned to rectangles and my gas to cream cheese.
Isaac Newton sits me down in front of a peculiar wall towards the end of town.
On it, a wingless butterfly to which my headlights give temporary flight.
In idle I sit, waiting for it to leave – or for the paint to peel, I truly have no preference.

Enter Examiner 1 & Contemplater 2 –
Taking their place in front of the wall, they keep the butterfly between them.
I watch as they dine on each other; tearing the other apart with belittling prattle.
It escalates quickly.
Their voices raise, as do the veins from their neck and forehead.

They struggle and strain as if held back by fishing line –
like two wet wasps desperate to dry their wings.
A break in the madness; silence and edible eye contact.
A drop of sweat cascades from the nose, whistles to the floor and sizzles upon impact.
It is now destined to rise and tickle as steam.

What followed was the synchronized destruction of man.
A sanguine history now painted the wall where my headlights had shown,
Rorschach in design, and more permanent this time–
The butterfly was pleased but claimed a soul per wing
and I drove home with blood in my tires.