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war, the substance of the world is the world


it's not autonomic but close driving
when close driving across the country
in the middle of 100 kilometers ad hour
in the middle of 120 kilometers an hour
when thoughts become things
substances grained and soft like a body
wounded by the side of the road
or when thought compresses down
into the substance of asphalt or concrete
you might notice the lines down the road
you might notice the lines across them
the field turns, turning another field
there are fields of wheat and fields of sight
you find you looking for a number
then you find the number and find you looking
there's a crow in the tail of the window
there's a word on the radio and a roar
the fm station skips roaring in thick chunks
the am station fades like the maternal function
you're crawling but feel a constant skid
it's always like flesh and always like substance
you now know that the world disappears
when the world appears
you now know that the world has always been
high speed
you now know that life is a slow-down and
attention to detail
you forget the detail and listen to the noise
the noise of the motor is maybe a new noise
you worry the noise like exit-signs passing
there are foods and lodgings and gases
there are nitrogens and kryptons and neons
there are carbon dioxides and oxygens
you are running down a slight slope and you
are running up a slight slope
for a moment a thought: there is no thinking
in the world, this is a symptom or a syndrome
for a moment another: thinking is a virus
or contamination
the imaginary shuffles beneath the floor
of the car
the floor of the car is the floor of the world
sliding against the world where everything is:
grit, gravel, rough and wounded surface
i am a vector in this here now car, it's making
noise