Are we there yet?

    Screams in the night; moans from a long flight. The road passes, the vehicle is stopped and the scenery is moving around us.  Mighty oaks sway back and front, the rain runs down, collects, and pools in the natural grain. The moon peaks out from the mountain range, everything is fenced off. Man has divided and subdivided every plot of land. The desert is only place where the lizards can stay. Caves don’t need fences and the true history of the world resides under a mountain. For the lizards are the ideology, they are the cold blooded fiend that steals babies in the night. As the wet road passes, the morning bells ring. The sun is low on the horizon, but the horizon is on the move. This make and model can’t catch up, for it is bankrupt and there are no warranties on where we need to go. The sun is always low on the horizon; clinching tight when it’s high. But we know better. We have seen the blisters, we have peeled the scabs, and some us went as far as to tasted and savored the sweet skin like vampire cigarette addicts sucking on nicotine patches. 
   

   The smell of indecisive far sidedness inflicts havoc on the interior of the wood paneled station wagon. What is that awful smell is asked, but no one wants to admit that the fumes are from the none existence catalytic converter has cause us to inhale so much carbon monoxide that the only way to stop the headache was to start chewing on the any limb that could find teeth. We are surviving on rotting meat and poison fumes. There is still enough elbow marrow to scrape out fifty more years of aesthetics. As long as we collect the blood, piss, and shit into buckets and then jar or can it, we can recycle through any style just enough to get us to the next check point. With which comes the joy of getting searched and hounded by beast sniffing for anything that would allow them to justifiable take a bit. Boot to the face, ad infinitum, forever.
   

    Another night in the car and hair begins to fall out. Maybe there is something else to eat in the seats, hopefully an old peanut. Anything will do, lint, dirt, flakes from some chicken crust. What gets negated into the myth will become peanuts. That always seems to sustain enough spectacle to allow the licking of the floors; the annual chewing of the carpets. Collecting and analyzing every particle trying to uncover rather or not we have arrived at that imaginary evolutionary step towards the uber structure, the superman.

    What remains is a limbless zombie driving a group of college students towards an upset stomach, indigestion, and a horrible case of acid reflux.   There may be vomiting. Next stop, the bathroom stalls inside a rest stop 20 miles down the highway and then to the moon.