buried

i woke up in the backseat of a car
the earth stifled us on all sides
(yes, you were there too)
and i couldn't remember anything for
the fog in my brain that some strange demon
had breathed just for fun;
but you called down the lightning
and heaven hauled us out of there, so
thank you.

but then

i woke up in the backseat of a car
this time, the air was free and plenty
and you were telling me how the honesty spilled
from my fingers and the backs of my eyes.
we drove toward a sea-green sky split with
crawling black branches that caged me in,
but let you drive;
you opened the door so i would tumble out
and you told me, "goodbye, this isn't your fault,"
but where'd you go?

i stopped waking up
and lay there on the dirt road
thinking about explosions that would destroy this place.