| New Jersey has a lot of wet letters, people leave them all over the road. I wanna pick them up, but im always driving too fast, in such a rush to get somewhere, where most of the times i dont wanna be anyway. So i just kind of notice them, i like the blur of ink they spread across my brain. I like that they always arrange themselves in the order of a first line. Spelling out the beginning of a seriously , sweaty, jersey poem. But then the motion stops and the letters creep under asphault and other scattered pieces of car motors, and starbucks styroform porn. I get distracted. The roads are bigger and the letters are fatter here. Screaming louder here. i think they are hungry here. Hunger is the one thing i recognize in nature; concrete and steel, metal and stone are hungry too, i especially see the hunger in the smoke stacks' expelled exhaust, fuming up into the malnourished sky. All of this state is hungry, people consume everything, Buildings greedliy grab at the sky. I have seen racoons the same heaving size of the garbage cans they molest nightly. Gas stations, and chain link fences mark my corners. I got sales at Pathmark, fresh seafood and exotic flowers, rusty shopping carts, the trail of black snow, sludge runs down the aisles. These are my letters. 600 thousand dollar townhomes, 3 million dollar condos, and a plastic bag that remains stuck in the same tree plastered against a shallow, sun that keeps falling on the road, a new road, a ripped up, shotgunned, potholed road, a double yellow, one lane, traffic lit road. Its a crass state, with too much class, and i know the letters sometimes, wreck, reek, and wanna be better than spelling lost around 287 too far west; all those wet letters of grass, weeds sprouting past HESS and the japanese market, the airport and sketches of highways, bleeding into lakes. my letters. |