hatchback satellites

this is a bus we ride
down the queen's highway
a comet of strangers
arranged
in neat rows lined in twos
violins in my ears
my overhead light
a fixture of heaven
eyes ajar
blue doctor hands
coming in and out of focus
lumber loads waving bye
hopped up on medical light
weakknees armrest
lift this bar for emergency exit
weak
knees
arm
rest
push window open
pushing ink to page
ink-filled sky blacker than october's ebony plight
spinning tires
touching
yellow wires
faulty lines
hatchback satellites
help me tonight
i need more miles
more and more miles
passing underneath
someone must kill the driver
if he touches the brakes
'cause we need more miles
passing beneath