revisions!

highway

the wind
blows our hair into silky tornados,
into teenage medusas,
into
the wind-blown goddess look,
with the air
rushing
past our open windows
and swirling around the shiny, bright-wax candy exterior
of the passing cars.
the radio singer
howls
and wolf-growls
our favorite anthem
to the wild-beat bass drum pounding chords
like drops of water falling
in the dark of a cave
and echoing outward.
and
laughter is dripping out over our lips
like sprinklings
of silver bells
and marachino cherries,
pooling at our feet
in delicious puddles.
outside the windows
the sky is fading into the layered colors
of rich
exotic
drinks,
because
we are drunk
and out of our minds
with the rush
of car keys,
of sugar and sixteen in our veins.

. . .

stone crosses mark my passing.
bedecked with hyacinth blossoms and glass beads,
i go running into the salty froth
of an undulating mirror;
the sea throws my reflection back at the sky.
i braid shells and seaweed into my hair,
erect temples to forgotten faiths.
i frost my skin with salt,
fall back into the blue-gray void that held my reflection,
tumble head-first into the heady tangle
of muscular vines and bark and sinew.
left behind in the heel of my footprint,
stone crosses mark my passing.