Poetry

Road Crew
by Kristine Ong Muslim

Riding for eighteen hours
Across monotonous sceneries of asphalt,
Fog, glass, and one-dimensional tenements
Growing out of the earth
Like stolid appendages,
We kill time to understand the world.
The highways are eternal, restless
In their attempts to understand
Our journey.
We roll on for miles and miles
Burning dust on our trail.

The destination is never the same:
The primal energy, the raw hunger
A stadium welling up with lacerating love
And welcoming chaos,
Shouts and guitar riffs searing the soul.

The frontman is gloriously
OD-ing inside the bathroom.

There is a void and one of us
Has to walk
Through it.

The restless crowd surge outside
As the empty skies
Bleed overhead.

No one must know
That this is only a dream.

The sound check is through.

August/September 2005

Road Crew by Kristine Ong Muslim Riding for eighteen hours Across monotonous sceneries of asphalt, Fog, glass, and one-dimensional tenements Growing out of the earth Like stolid appendages, We kill time to understand the world. The highways are eternal, restless In their attempts to understand Our journey. We roll on for miles and miles Burning dust on our trail. The destination is never the same: The primal energy, the raw hunger A stadium welling up with lacerating love And welcoming chaos, Shouts and guitar riffs searing the soul. The frontman is gloriously OD-ing inside the bathroom. There is a void and one of us Has to walk Through it. The restless crowd surge outside As the empty skies Bleed overhead. No one must know That this is only a dream. The sound check is through.