seat belt

in a gallery of car crashes 
we were the salvage & the roll cage.
blinking humming bird. a fire extinguisher
arriving without a body. i open
a plastic bag of screw & swallow them
one by one. the weight of winter
in a mallet. how to prevent against
disaster, a step by step guide.
i often don't wear my harness
out of fear of being useful. i would prefer
to click the space ship into place.
a stop sign has a whole family now.
intersections with capsized deer.
my brother & i swerving
like only children can. air bags
in our chests. the helmet of a dead boy
floating down river. turn your shoes
into canoes & paddle with the mice
onward towards the man made junk yard.
i will be a trash maker just like you.
speed limits are suggestions.
on the way home everyone passes me
either that or i am invisible 
& the road is just an old story.
coughing up steering wheels.
i never meant to be a driver
but in america everyone gets old enough
for the face to be a windshield.
bugs in my teeth. brush on the side
of the highway. i wear a stoplight
around my neck & stand between
your legs. guard rails bloom neon.
i welcome the fall, whenever it finds me.
buckle me into my skeleton.
here is the safety exit. here is
the other vibrating door.
tell me how you survive here.
i still need to figure it out 
for myself.