"Make It New".
Shaking the parts of speech like fluff in a snow globe.
The way sleep scrambles life's detritus,
each poem says I'm desperate then everything must go.
To hear something familiar here leads to careful laughter.
Go where?
The steady pressure on the accelerator
can be stipulated in advance.
As can this stubby bushes blurred in peripheral vision,
and someone will have sat down, a diner or a gas
station at a desolate crossroads,
and tried naming it to evoke the whole human situation
while satirizing the impulse to do so.
What that name will be is the one thing we don't know.