The Drive Home
They drove the Haldol home,
neat.
Deft plunge into your
writhing muscle,
clenched tethered
animal drenched and driven
mad
beneath my hands
A sharp tang of metal in
the mouth, we shared
great gulps of air
made rank with fear, a tincture
of shit
at war
with the high gloss of
sour sweat swelling the sides
of our sealed tin can
Hurtling west running the
lights driving you home
under low spelter skies
slashing teeth biting down
on round boneyard howls
heard down a drain pipe
our free hands a beat behind
your upturned feet churning
in sacred dance,
freedom
perhaps, bestowed as rain from
the gods
pouring through the
shattered moon roof
Home,
home at last.
We pierced the circle
drive
and trailed you inside, borne
along
by wordless monks
flashing
the sign of the cross
in four-point restraint
your eyes rolling back
as you received the blessed
sacrament.
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