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College Night: the car is a door

Eric Gelsinger

It was a late winter light I wanted to reach up under the nakedness
darkness under a ceiling panel flicked off the light dirty magazines
up there. Walked up more of stairs memory can't count, getting
brighter all the time, turned the doorknob glowing around shadow and
went out the doorway into night and road door.

Faced a breeze rocking air like a cradle of streetlight, and inside,
with brilliant furnaces in their lungs and beautiful, and they had
delicate hands. Winter smells struck a low chord to my memory, maple,
oak, and birch bare tree branches quivering mnemonically in
tree-script's airy eldritch Ogham. While lung-like evergreens'
shimmered in the back like electricity, the car woke sounds and rolled
into the tunnel-darkness road, in my rearview, a flashlight beam in
the wold woods. Where dark inhered in light. In the cracking cold,
breath of light made the windshield, windows glow, heat jacked up full
blast, rap bass rippling back-glass like liquid. The radio of light
irradiated like a forge and the solid air melted to be shaped vision
of everything transformed and breath and ash scorched side-view. The
fluttering disappearing and reappearing of everything winking in and
out, four headlights, and shining car shook luminescence ephemerally
of trees' racks back and forth sway, window glare, street signs shone,
cold rain to snow, earth, heaven gently touching, boy and girl face to
face, like me shuffling off between curtains.

Eric Gelsinger

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