This is not Paul on the road,
dreaming of a martyr.
This is not the girl whose
renaissance is carried with her in her handbag
with a hundred shades of lipstick
that never quite washes off-
crucifixes for a purpose unknown.
This is not man thrown from Eden
dreaming what everyone dreams
when they find the best shade
to pull over and fuck the opportunity.
This is not Paul on the fucking road.
This is not the girl at the corner
with the puffed eyes,
or with the oddly shaped jaw
wishing the street lights
or the headlights of the night
would glow a just a little more