God moves on mysterious motorways

and on the tarmac he reigns

and on that strip we take our chance

so much faith with such little grace.

The leaderless army advances on

pressing on, pressing down,

obilterating the recent past with

tension and the four - letter frown.

Petrol sprays from a thousand tubes

like a demon baby suckling drains

from the bowels of rock pools up, up

and the geyser release, more potent than semen

stored where the fish never reach,

only the ghosts of fossil remains.

Here you have it beneath your groin

passed fit by the captains of industry and its spoils

in love with the profits and the spreading of oils.

 

So with the faith by pumps delivered

enlarge your margins of motorway mileage

biting into you with steely jaws

within your closed hermetic doors

where what you have is truly yours and you float

with the world at your restricted throat.

So much faith!  So little space for error

margins of terror always that chance that

horizons will never quite welcome you.

Embankments rise like celebrations,

a civic smudge that make you feel

nearly human again......    but then again

the low spreading feeding stations of stainless steel

and glass that pass, nests of commerce that

prey on homesickness and bursting bladder.

 

Often times you are tricked to a halt

 

and then reality feels awkward, betrayed

and so much tarmac remains

to be made up

and petrol is patient.

So much faith where God moves

in mysterious motorways.