little black saturn.

seventy cigarettes and an ocean away
in the dense new jersey grass
driving up route one north
to the places we frequent
in the little black saturn that's chosen me
a little black saturn
with moving picture screens for windows.

blinking and nodding traffic lights
are an act probably, most certainly
and the road stretches out its palms
in the rear-view
and the glittering posted psalms
on the butts of cruising companions
is it closer than it seems?

soiled sticky cool air shoots in
clumps over itchy skin and heavy eyes
in the little black saturn
that is my little world
as the All Creative One big-banged it
double time, once ago, revved this engine
all the figurine little diner people
the holograms on the moving screen,
the 3-D storybook window
with the captions, my lines
strewn about on the bottom, near the ground

an ear to the radio, some outside world
and the only way to know
if you are alone
is to remove the key
and step outside.