3 am, the cloverleaf at 94 and 394

I kick the dirt and swallow a scream.

Dark wet air whips past me,

Tail lights pulse around my patch of wet grass

Screaming from one highway onto the next

The dazzled cars hurrying onto their bitter lives

I pull out a lighter and laugh harshly

“You judging me now?” My voice

lost over my sweating lips.

I charge the cloverleaf with a burning throat

Slowing, I cough and drop to the glistening grass.

Rot from the warm puddle

collides with the exhaust of blurred tail lights

and roll over me

I spat at the wet fumes coating my throat.

A scream rips over my tongue

Long and hard, it dwindles

Until I can taste the grime of the day

Nothing has changed.

From one of your files.