no toll roads

i no longer believe in gas stations.
i drive the car until it's a bucket
full of fish. park it & keep walking.
the highway says,
"motor vehicles only"
but i am an engine. i am 
an angel's little machine.
once, i accidentally put in directions
to new york city 
without any tolls. the trip was
eight hours when it was usually two
or three & it was too late
to change course
by the time i noticed. i thought about
how roads are false veins
laid like scribbles in the earth's
blood. turning around & around 
to point the right direction.
headlights boring holes
in the night's overdue veil.
the car died more than once
& i had to restart it. praying
to the gods of guts & gears.
there was no one else in the world
for those hours. only the twist
& the pinch of distance. 
i marveled at my gps.
asked aloud to no one
"what did people do before this?"
i wish there was more time
to be lost. i have not been lost enough.
i do remember print out directions. 
my mother pointing to an exit 
as my father drove us
to the beach for the day.
when i finally arrived 
i kneeled & kissed to the asphalt.
there were angels outside my apartment
eating the fingers of anyone 
who passed by. i offered mine willingly.
i said, "i do not believe in gas stations."
not anymore. devouring a fish raw,
the angel said, "you are not home."
angels never lie. i slept in my car
& pretended all night
i was floating down 
an afterlife river.