Driving in the car
the joint rolled between her fingers
the wind whipping the black pixie cut that
looks so
out of place.
Dead Man's Curve
slowing down so as not to
find the end in blacktop and grass.
The burning.
Straight again, speed and smoke,
it's all she needs to keep them
back.
Clubs and music, everything is so familiar.
Camera head, as she snaps, capturing
the memories and facts of her life in
the stand-still frames.
Black and white, nothing colored, floating on a
dream of
paper and pills, is all she need to keep them
away.
The want, the need, the photos of her haunting
desire,
but hidden behind its own mirror.
The last shot:
me in the review mirror.
The facts, the memories of her life,
she can't see them anymore.
Dead Man's Curve.
