Her Tapes, Her Car, Radio, Twelve-Hour Drive

Cruise control through Texas, eighty miles-an-hour
Through town POPULATION 340, towards expanses
Of New Mexico, snow on the mesa, mundra, Milagro,
Lace power lines in Santa Rosa—“Nothing is ever lost.

What you’re looking for . . . is what is looking at you.”
I’m looking at ten turquoise Cadillacs buried to the windshield
At an angle: “We’re Y 94 in Amarillo.” Route 2393
In Jolly and “Nothing to stop the wind but barbed wire.”

“Breathe: Visualize energy leaving the body. Exhale:
Visualize toxins leaving the body. Observe the process.
What is happening now . . . is happening now”

aREtha through the high plains past SON-SHINE MINISTRIES,

AZLE WELDING, BARBO-BURGERS, a Pontiac made into
A chicken, trampolines on sale for five-hundred ninety-
Nine dollars and a “Welcome to Springtown.” “Concrete mind
To the higher mind,”
going where it’s colder, climbing where

“The higher always controls the Lower,” not resisting
the thought, not following the thought, not creating
new thought, just safe breathing to the Rainbow Bridge,
“. . . observing and being a participant.” Encino—be still:

driving packed snow north to Santa Fe, “Miss my baby.”
730 to 199 West, 51 North to 287, 40 to 285 North,
becoming the road, chilled air through power windows,
hurling towards your body—the blues tape goes turbo.

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