Kwek Stop Sunsets.

There's nothing more human
than a gas station stop on the high way.
The rusted hinges of 7/11 sinews
and caffeinated eyelids of the "fast stops"
of the turnpikes and freeways that
might as well by their own
countries--own nations--
hum hymns in their own vernalcular of
slushies and syrup fingers-- they have always
reminded me of love--I have always felt
unintentionally excited about them--
It's they nestle themselves--
poised in coves of
pine trees-- Krimpet wrapper
voodoo dolls standing guard--
they can be glistening atolls--strung out from a sum
of bites taken from moon pies.
We trade broken sun glass
frames for bathroom lines
and there was always something
miraculous about picking any snack
and drink when we were on
our way to Chingoteague-- 
And then we left-- send me a post card
from a Sunoco--
with a box of twizzlers and a 
blue raspberry slushie-- because 
we all know that's the best type
and tell me the vacation hadn't started yet
but the way their is always more exciting
than the sea gulls or the 
sand feet-- it's the sum of all the
potential of what a life could
be-- wrapped in tin foiled--
spun in a slushie.
Let's take a vacation to a Stop and Go
and I'll tell you I love you like
sleeves of a juicy fruit
and not even Krimpet wrappers
can stop us.