"Rad Racer"
Originally published in Cream City Review

You are driving west at manic speeds.  To distill driving to the purity of elements, you say:  road, car, desert, sign, scrub.  Distant San Francisco is simply neon phantasms, look how they float.  At times, you close your eyes for lengthy stretches, the way a Zen archer shoots at night.

—What are you trying to do?  Nothing, man.  Just driving.