Driving shot gun

Red van
mobile tin can
sailing down a man-made river of pavement
temporary vehicle enslavement
does not defer my curiosity
I would not prefer to be
absent of your company
and despite overwhelming atrocities
passively festering in the arms of distracted pacifiers
life passerby-ers, but who am I to say?
neurosis poke me amid my sermon
and with a gentle side pinch you deter them
reminding me I can say what I think
I trust you, I’m being taught to
start trusting in me, because we are all free
and deserve to love, be loved, C.-all of the above.
you fit my functioning like a constantly adapting glove
and when we’re in the red van,
tin can among mobile tin cans
I feel an awareness of
humanity’s unequal and opposite reaction to natural laws
the bliss of not being a slave to every newly arriving
inevitable “flaw” in human action
the bliss of feeling like falling with no desire to
anxiously grip for unneeded traction.