by Craig Shay
I am riding through seasons of insanity
with a madman in my soul.
I am riding a subway train
six-hundred feet below the city.
I am staring out the bus window,
deflecting the forests jaded glances.
I am riding through the eye of a needle,
listening to the engine sing me to sleep.
I am riding past people who have gun barrels
where there used to be eyes.
I am riding a white plastic horse on a carousel of illusion.
I am riding over infinite rivers, because
I want to know what the water knows.
I want to know that woman I see skinny-dipping by that river.
I want to know what the grass knows, pressed closely against her skin.
I am stopped outside another industrial town,
waiting on the library steps.
I am riding out the glow of television sets, which light up the night.
I am riding with my soul, through a sea of laughing hills.