An LA Freeway Is A Bodhi Tree

Johnny Boy's launched a Buddha run. Disappeared
on the salt flats of Bonneville, and a creature
climbed out who’d never lift again. Eliminates
sirens by cranking up the radio. Believes cops
can't keep up the more gone he gets, fantasy
that debuts big in someone’s head as the eyeballs
project it onto a wall at the back of the skull,
and flat out is the only way left to live, last
lane open, because you can’t explain anything else,
the loss of the job when you were doing so good,
girlfriend who finally quits the outlaw life and
listens to Mom, unemployment too busy to answer
the phone. In times of police chases and bank collapse,
you never want to find out what all you’ll go through
and still choose to live. When they yell, “Get down!"
fall to earth, Johnny Boy, my pal, go to earth.