Lashing Out at the Unfeeling Universe

I stand in eucalyptus
of almost April,
and then a patch of road
dressed in paper sheets
greets the evenings as well
as the lights of my truck,
disappearing toward a tangible horizon.

The mouths of every meeting
between me and fate fade
into the rearviewmirror,
and I smell time good
as cat eyes watch me roll by
in search something new and rare
like the endangered steady beat
pf people I haven’t met.

Puttering and dreaming and working,
I want to smell their shampoo
in a controlled cadence of jokes
from birth to weather
in the bright domain of life
which intersects life
causing all sorts of fun and sadness.