were I Sherman, I'd burn

1.

riding away from Atlanta

teeming 8 lane road

amber dusk, grey asphalt

cigarette cherry

biting my first fingers

whirling white ash

in the dark confines

of my Nova



riding away

simply driving

90 degree angle

of stubble chin

above cotton shirt

mind chattering

worse than the radio

Tupac Shakur

recently dead

Nas positing,

"If I ruled the world..."



red tail light phalanx

drifting ahead

red gas tank needle

creeping toward "E"

when I notice this

is when I come

to my senses

"Where am I driving?"



quick panic at the thought

of how much money

knowing it's not too much

but enough

when I pull into

the Exxon

self-conciously operating the pump

making my way to the counter

paying

riding

back out

into the night



2.

in the low rectangular confines

of the bar

hunched at a table

along the

dark brick walls

sitting in

red leather seats



ashing into brief

aluminum trays



I outline my theories

to my friend



the world is changing

some of us are changing too



I crush the end of my cigarette

into the top of my hand as proof



hysterical laughter



he thinks I've lost it

but is half-crazy himself



both of us look like

the seediest scumbags

you've ever seen



what passes for education notwithstanding



the only girls we're

fit for

would have to be



drunken and emotionally disturbed



and even they are dressing well

these urban nights

and smell eternities more alluring



than our stink of

cheap beer, smokes

and desperation



3.

I can't remember how

that night began



but it was late dusk



and I had become familiar enough

with the railroad tracks



running behind

one of the trendier coffee bars



in Marietta



to feel imbued with the place



after all, I'd sat there broke

had cribbed notes seated along the wall



had wallowed in the full confusion

of lonely yearning



anyway,

I felt comfortable enough



to be wandering there

in the first itchy clutches

of another experience



me and the one friend I had at the time

Jeff



were at another bar nearby that coffee spot

much more mainstream southern american



pulling on any number of beers

and smoking

alive in the knowing

that we'd be awake for hours

immune

to the effects of drinking



at some point we decided to drift down into the city



I remember now,

he drove



we rode in his 80's brown Ranger

down the wide highway

until the city lights rose

dewy constellations among

the monoliths of buildings



and we spoke of the city

its huge unknowing grandeur



we rode and the milk Georgia night

pulled the smoke from our lungs

out from the truck

into covert madness