winged eyeliner was the catalyst
of taking turns in the trunk of the car,
fast passes on the freeway
as we set our course for north.
soon the witching hour was upon us
and we challenged the bumps in the night,
peering through the corn where the children come from
with our flashing lights and open windows.
spontaneity and superstition were our companions
guided by emerald signs on empty streets.
we go back and forth between cities,
a caffeine pit stop at 7/11
black smudged on my eyelids.
a struggle to find my keys
in the bottomless bag strapped across my butterfly chest,
bidding adieu to the souls resting together.
my legs are numb but the trees are bent
so i save the pain for later
when the shadows under my eyes
are shades closer to the shadows under street lamps.
this shift we’re in keeps me awake
like the music rattling my eardrums
and the fabric beneath my feet.
eyes catching headlights passing by
as the sun rises in the east.
i go home with no money in my wallet
and the ghosts that follow.