i, too, am not a bit tamed

feed me the sunset
in ribbons of road,
the cost of freedom
in miles per gallon
regular unleaded, dirt-
streaked windows
down and bare-
headed, chewing on
possibilities and loose
strands of hair.  one foot
on the pedal, the other
on the dash, left arm out
in the wind of eleven miles over,
just this side of reckless.

inquiet

my eyes in the fugged train window
are empty and not like my own,
their surface etched with blood and regret.
my hands shake out of tune
with the movement of the cars,
my limbs disjointed and only loosely
sewn together. there is a yellowing
bruise on my chest and a hollow
where my pulse should be.
i have been filled, voided, then filled again,
and i am still thirsty.

surely i am sickening for something.