GPS 

i said i want to go home
& the GPS carried me to the mouth
of a river. drove through the mountain
& back down & into a vortex of blue
& through the head of needle & in & out
of parking lots & through 
the front door of a walmart & back
to the deep tall woods. all the while
the GPS said, we are almost there
we are almost there. the radio
looked for a hymn & spun static. 
windows peeled
like lips. everyday 
is a sunday from now on.
i miss the way my doorbell sang
like a tin bird. right there is where
the mailbox would be & here
is where i'd tie a pink balloon
to its neck. who is going to try
being a woman with me? the GPS 
is dainty & she wove map.
she pointed to a cliff & said town hall. 
she found an abandoned church
& said this is a university & now
here i am at a river 
in no country at all.
do i want to have an address? 
who sends me letters anyway? 
the junk mail is sulking off
into the ether. the sky is bruising for me.
or, maybe that's selfish, it could be
bruising just for the sensation.  
i am dreaming of those signs that signal
you are crossing into one state 
from another. we passed eight 
welcome to pennsylvania signs,
prying back the state's layers.
will anyone miss me if i never arrive?
oh, GPS, what do you know about 
home? i could drop you like a rock
into the river & walk myself to dust.
i miss every place i ever was--
even gas stations & parking lots.
the river is widening now. no horizon
just water. the GPS is saying
arrived arrived arrive. cold water.
floating like a leaf. 
take me somewhere bright,
are you listening?