DRIVE
Here we are
“east” of something
see orange
slow down
save lives
expression
of grief and rage
ha ha girlfriend
in the show
instructions
How can I write
anything
devoid of contempt
this
dissatisfaction
A smell of cars gone to ground
A platform elevated by human legs
You might truck in oil for sweetness
It’s a job—land for sale—here
I want to know what has happened to my vision
of a devastated bulb protected
by a cage of shadow
an oat stuck in my teeth
You have exactly 13 minutes to circle
the drain of a different culture
doors open on the left and right
awareness week
your dad’s house in Milwaukee
your step sister’s down south
no bids
I could just eat like crazy
a red mass pierced by cutlery
in the 24-hour hotel room
of my heart
and then I
am back in school like a half-hour special
riding a Vespa through the empty halls
of California
there is a what I cannot tell you
this warmed-up gazpacho of many doors closing
oh and then Nick said on email that he had a big car
an open 40 behind the angled screen
Indianapolis
Bloomington
I still want to drive
I know it’s wrong
I have a little car
Timothy Yu is the author of the chapbook Journey to the West (Barrow Street) and the critical book Race and the Avant-Garde: Experimental and Asian American Poetry since 1965 (Stanford University Press). His poems and prose have appeared in SHAMPOO, Rabbit Light Movies, Boog City, and Chicago Review. He teaches at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.