a car driven to succeed

walden freeman

this is a love story
i wrote at my weakest on my knees by my bed
white like black and black like light
filters into a glass bending spoons
or a pool bending limbs without breaking
the rules were set, like suns
burning the sons strangled in phone cords
now from the sink i can watch my face
turn into a dozen puzzle pieces
laughing at the injury and the jury is in
for the judge who calls out sick
every wednesday, every thursday i get a little sicker
my skin can't wait to fit into the urn i earned
by becoming this man
fond of memories and forgetful of facts
i'm so upset each night when i look up
in dictionaries the meanings of childhood heroes
that died long ago, spears leaving their hands