In Neutral

the circus was a one-ring attraction
the eyes that fly could catch no glee or grin
except what lies in him, unchanging

the stereo, horns that blow
to smother our weighty silence
which rolls as tires go, monotonous

the passing road, easy like a breeze who
flew and blew and somehow lost control
gutters a blur, we gasp to grasp the barriers

the space between is amplified by
a red-light hiatus that seems to time
how long our words are denied

a stuck horn is mind-numbing
white noise turned red like insides of eyelids
I see my reflection in the blood of his mouth

a fury, not giving
a fire not worth the smoke

the pavement’s icy-glistening
as we approach our history