In Absentia

I drove out of Philly yesterday, watching
pioneers erase billboards promising
more and better of what I already had.
I was thinking about philosophy, how utility
is cheapened by those angels we call “Destiny”
or “Justification.” There is no rationalization for
breaking the law, no pardon for sharp dreamers
except another bed, one with fewer pillows.
White lines make me think words between places
between bumpers and tire tracks shouting out
blank spaces when asked, “Present?”
No, second angels sit in the back of the classroom,
use words only as gravestones because that’s genuine
utility—words weren’t meant to live on, only on top
of. Philosophy dies in falling minutes, is reborn as
imagination, finds rationality written in stars on our doormats.
I see the death of an opening and shift lanes—
I can read the billboards, but I believe the stars lie.