Cruising on Fifth Gear

A found poem made from bits of other people's Facebook statuses. It almost makes sense, I think.

All I’ve eaten since 5 o’clock last year

was this magnificent food

in a coffee house, where

I regarded an apple:

my finger rosary praising and glorifying

homemade apple pie.

 

Yes, I was that girl

seated alone with

my glass half-empty;

another 2 am panic-mode-caffeine-trainwreck

with vaguely nefarious purposes.

 

And lo! an angel of the Lord appeared:

wings clipped, shoulders shrugged

you hunched over a steaming mug.

I offered cream, sugar

and pondered you in my heart.

 

Later:

Silent. After

a solid night misbehaving

in our beds.

Darkness cannot put out your memory.

 

Can I send you flowers?

It’s awful on the road and

I’m so confused!

My one headlight burned out

twenty miles ago. But

the world got colder, we got older

and I knew I couldn’t keep moving

so slow.

Morning will come covered in forget-me-nots

and still I’ll be gone.