and yet what mother wouldn’t want to do at least just a bit better than hers did
either the mood ring is the driver
or the wheel
it emits/admits
a nothing/everything brown
equates to silence
as we know i'm so well versed
whole life a craned neck study
in what uttered arrow holds back
no colors becoming, so far
but illness makes a map
routes I've always let someone else drive
while my miles grow piles
though this year might be the year
they fall
bravery blooms, disappears
a debated snow storm
we're inside of
clutching, i'm driving too
not even backseat but in addition
to the driver
who might be a mood ring
driving without the power of feeling
hot behind the wheel,
I’m in the wheelless drivers union
alert sans make or model
tool-less but tuning in
so hard
static breaks
mood ring settles
dense to cool blue
can't trust such predetermined hue
rich as spilt blue drink
on Love's linoleum
warming up radio
stuck between endings
last thought sacrificed to
melody old as oil change
rude, that cliches are clutch
but not now
no space in this vessel for them
to stretch
mood ring might be faulty
no warranty
can’t let it tell you
what you already know
can't swap febreze
for coolant
though this might be the year
i try