Interstate 5897

I wake up in a strange bed

strange in shape, as in a sofa

the walls are bleeding - Wait

no; it's the ceiling

now I stand in front of the mirror

black skin, black hair, black eyes

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Now I'm in a rusty Civic without a registration on 3rd avenue

Tisha is driving, K is in passenger, Toni is in back with me and Gold

beats on the radio, by Dre

all the store windows display washable prints "vacancy" "everything must go"

all the storefronts display nonwashable paints "Young Yen" "fuck the police"

we pass the building where i grew up

a guy is out front drinking from a container of paint thinner

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On every corner, a place to buy booze

on every side street, a gun store

on the corner of 3rd and Jefferson, an emergency health clinic

shut down

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Jefferson connects to 43, which connects to I-5897

on the other side of I-5897, pale aliens live and work and play

I've never been there, but the houses are big

K has been there, laying bags and dropping dots

says they got cars for every day of the week

them buildings are new

put em up in the 60s. then the highway

-

a park, three kids, one vagrant,

three kids beating one vagrant, raiding his cart

the slide is broken

-

"And I done told my manager, you know what I'm sayin? I told him, I asked him, who the fuck do you think I am, nigga? Tellin' me I ain't workin' hard? I bust my ass erry day in that place, and what thanks do I get? Free food once a day, twice if they ain't watchin, you know I'm sayin'?"

Toni is talking

Toni is very obese.

she doesn't know this because she has not been to the doctor's since she was 13 and her 17 year old boyfriend put her in the emergency room

but she has something growing in her guts

something that never stops growing

until you stop growing cells

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my dad died in jail

his dad died in jail

his dad's dad died on the way to trial

his dad's dad's dad died at the hands of a pale alien in Virginia with a whip

the whip had sharp rocks tied to the frayed end

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I-5897 is shaped like a whip, if you're a bird

and now I am one

flying down Jefferson, flying down 43

landing right in the middle of the interstate

Standing in incoming traffic, on I-5897

my hands are raised

the cars screech to halt

doors open

people step out, white and brown

-

one by one, hands reach for the air

pulling down the sky - no

pulling down the dome

unearthing I-5897