Bus driver

Dear road past God
you’ve me on, my only heart
followed from it can be past
roads followed single full roads
of a and lasts to a and birthing
outright skill chances still range.
still, standing man watching all
of you, man on bus, driver, where
do you to each morning, where do you
come to that your mind is broke
at empty pocket, is lamed in,
is not your eyes to my eyes even
not even splitted a second in the mirror.
You very deep brown or green, someone
comes out of that bus chair given
time but short time, is everywhere on
the bus, a chair gun is used to put
out your mind. My victim, whole ghost,
ready standing at your fore
to fore with you the time
that waits to put out your mind
will never to do it with me here.
Your mind will never go with me still
here in the cold with you in routes that are
at me to work with you, Man at driver.
Fine god eye me brown or green,
use me brown or green, sat
at me forward to you drives
a load, but no sadness drives the truck.
Tearful woman at a lesser time,
but no sadness drives the truck with a
hole. No one has either water and the
other vodka at the end of the ride.
The bride throws her bouquet through
the windshield into a crowd of women
and they all run away screaming. The
best man is going to be best and
we like throwing things at the bride and groom
but I don’t think you can throw
something if you don’t like them.
I would like to use this a last line
that would strengthen you and him,
mostly him and you in knowing
strength could restrengthen a
refrigerator.

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