Nausea. You can’t take it
Anymore. It starts again and
Stops. Just as suddenly
Lurching spinal cord forward
And back again. Your cosmos
Is disorientated. Stars and planets
Stopping. And thrown back into motion.
Right in the backseat of the car.
You currently are living.
You currently are in the car. So
You currently are living in the car. So
The car is currently the bane
Of your existence. And the car
Is currently the cause
Of your troubles
A literal metaphor for what goes on
Outside of those windows.
You will not last long
In the situation which
Those dual pupils of yours
Latch on to what is nearest
Oblivious to the whizzing scenery
And deceptively lulled by the starting
And incessant stopping. A false
Rhythm developed, when
123s are coincidence.
Fate will come, and with it
That dreaded nausea. If
You choose to focus those two
Pupils. On the automobile window.
If the strategy of evasion
Is to look beyond the glass
At the rapidly parading grass-
Apologies. You will not find elation.
Without focus, at sea-
Or excuse me- at “tree”-
How! The succumb to that dreaded fate
Depends on where the visage inquires,
The visual light present in our mortal lives
And the motion to where our pitied cosmos turns.
But if the scope of your extended gaze
Reaches past the glass, the parading trees
To rest upon that expansive aquamarine
The secret is leeched –Pray tell, why?
Why can relief be found in a crystal blue sky?
To look beyond the troubles of life at hand
Once hope if seen no jolt can unheal
The tumultuous jerkings of the automobile.
Then rising above essence, previous things you demand,
You laugh it off in the carseat, and ask
What is real?
Gloria Sun 2014.