That Bird of Light

That bird of light

We were driving down
a desolate Marshall Rd.
(once a highway
         now an abandoned road
                   just south of town).
I was driving with two friends:
         one beside me, the other in the backseat.
The one in the backseat was flying high on
cocaine and
the second was burnt out on marijuana.
I was the
driver
         and was running vigorously on kerosene.
We were intelligent kids
         but we were violating our intellects.
We were dedicated athletes
         but we were dismantling our thresholds.
We were active bachelors
         but we were excessively overexciting the underlying components.
                   of our physiognomies.
They were fair-weather Christians,
         I was an inconsistent non-believer
                   but we were all laughing at the heavens;
                             we were wading on the edge of hell.
We were the boys of summer with the windows down
         and we knew we had waited through lifetimes of winter to see this sunset.
Having watched the summer sun set
         and having thrown our Molotov cocktails at the ugliest landscapes,
                   the road was getting dark.
We were watching fireflies
         and parodying ever goddamn sound we could.
As we continued towards the retiring sun,
         I saw a bird of light, its wings of the brightest white.
Thirsty for rapture and tingling with delight,
         I reached out for the glorious bird.
I turned just in time and just missed the oncoming
                   truck.
I really have to stop trying to believe in angels.
         I guess the kerosene is good enough for now.