Cyst Act

By AJ Urquidi

The worst trip I took was taxing;
I at least get a write-off. Somewhere
that kid has chunks of my trust
in vials.

What I could not have delivered
had to fly to myself. Gone when
I arrive. Two bits, beginner
burns, stitching

horrible. Standing to run still
after all these years. Someone else
knows what day it is, grows cross when
he’s asked it.

From brain to hand data transferred,
though surface breach loses message
gist. You spot a blown tire beside
Mojave’s

highway, another blown tire you
spot. Rearview mirror: in your seat
a third blown tire, no tireless
cars in sight.