at a Love’s travel stop, through the portal of Love’s travel
a day’s idle moving, nothing crystallized,
mildly frictionless, and further only feeling
we’ve been at this stop before…
overlapping patterns ripple at edges
merge into that which bonds us, any indelible
fuckshit
repeated like an order of mass, a song’s increasing
in all who could only get up from under a crash
Siri has never mistaken herself for a person,
or a robot, she’s software, she says, “here to help”
we don’t know about the tornados
in path, just driving, only missing
maybe the secret is working on anything
so long as it’s useless
dayfall is sleek, a silhouette, ahead or past
there hasn’t been work for years in this town
my sister said at the center was a silence
calm– then ringing, all along the street, beds in trees
concrete slabs left, all she could hear was screaming
when cameras came they said it’s a hard thing to take
more an anthem than any we remember
a roadside cross
one hundred
& eleven feet tall
inside america’s largest cross
is a gift shop– I went as a child,
bought a July birthday rhinestone,
that turned my fingers green
I can’t not drink on these trips,
at the Quality Inn, get it how we live,
sick of my phone & the TV only has Fox Business
the last few days, I’ve been hearing your voice– I light in that
like reading a play you & Jesus are writing, Jesus says
fuck your savings account, you say saving is scabbing
I told Jesus in sunlight everything is too visible
those crosses keep repopulating
across extended source, linear noise, pollution, trees dip and rise
of course the market will not crash tomorrow
back in the south
in the array of artificial neural paths,
algorithms, evolving constantly
drought, conditions, take a toll
on wheat prospects
back in my childhood
one home exterior was lifted
so that each room were visible
the structure of a staircase, like dollhouse
furniture strewn, broken, misplaced
a computer and a desk untouched
the night before the rapture may or may not occur
at the gas station where everyone is famous, momentarily
the heat has been turned off
but the air is warm
not a sudden end
but at some point
Rachel Rabbit White is the author of the full length collections Porn Carnival & the extended Porn Carnival: Paradise Edition (Wonder books.) She lives between New York City and Mississippi with her husband Nico Walker.
