4 Lives in the fast lane....with only one breathing.

Word bank - resonate, undecided, insight, script, metaphorical, quintessence,  mannequins,alliteration, picayune, spilt ink, modernization. (2. kissing clouds, joy riding, scarred warrior, snow white complexion, spiritually infused, emotional hibernation, superficial perception, rock candy memories, canoe of tranquility, astrologically sound. (All of the above words had to be used in this poem.)


4 Lives in the fast lane....with only one breathing!

I have spent many weeks

joy riding with female mannequins,
just to beat the local car pool law,

which states unequivocally
that “No less then four passengers

can ride per car in the fast lane.”
This is an annoying side effect

of highway modernization
which offers sardine canned

comfort for the new age traveler.
Of course it also requires me

to hang out with a bunch of dummies,
whose company at best,

offers me so little feedback
that I have never spilt ink over it till now.
While not wanting to seem picayune,

I truly must complain
on how my snow white complexion

is most certainly related to
all the tinted glass that makes

me closely resemble
these pale faced woe-mannequins

that I must ride with.
I have discovered though,

that this is a form of Emotional hibernation,
to be completely surrounded by nothing

but plastic people with no insight.
They are constantly undecided

at where we should stop for breakfast,
and like a script for mimes

they simply pose, and remain,
the very quintessence of

a Helen Keller trio.
They present three,

fantastically formed,

female freedom fighters,
these illiterate alliterations,

Betty, Barb, and Bonnie,

who aid in my continual

battle against the system.
Obviously they hold only a

superficial perception of the cause.
But their effectiveness when

I pass a highway patrol spotter,
can resonate in my soul like the massive

speakers at a Jimmi Hendrix concert,
back when he was a hazer of purple,

and kissing clouds.
I actually become spiritually infused,

suckling on the hard fought
edges of success,

like my old rock candy memories,

and it sweetens my day.
In my fiberglass canoe of tranquility,

with rubber wheels treading
the waters of a recent rainfall,

I roam, a spiritually infused escort.
I am astrologically sound, though

I ignore all the signs, while I battle traffic,
a metaphorical, metamorphising,

scarred warrior with a small army of stiffs.




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