Surreal estate

Destination Unknown (from the Surreal Estate Collection: Sarasota Poems)
by Maverick.214

Highways always stretch forever into congested city arteries,
red lights dot asphalt streams like scattered cigarettes
into nightly plays, where everybody seems to know their part.

Can a person read a spirit map
and, thereby, find nirvana automatica?
Can an ascending angel be any more special
then a moth--sugar-coated, surreal, and divine?

Infinity to the power of ten,
Broken passenger windows bring memory-rich wind and rain;
Forever in love with the most important of men,
My father rests somewhere alongside a lifetime of pain.

I got lost once in the hustle and flow of big city lights,
white nights spot medial along-the-way points like sleepy fishermen laying nets
into riverbeds, where everything seems to be art.

Can a person sleep through a life
and, thereby, inherit a surreal estate?
Can a devil be any more cruel
than an emotion--profound, perfunctory, and diabolical?

Infinity to the power of ten,
Broken radios still bring tears of my childhood songs;
Forever in love with the most important of men,
My father sits somewhere near here and there between all rights and wrongs.

On the longest of drives
I forget about angels and devils locked in war--
they bring the same satisfaction as a back full of knives;
Oceanside, Atlanta, Sarasota, and all the familiar stops
are never lonely when ahead of me there are so many miles more.