January 2005 / Volume VI / Issue I
Kristine Ong Muslim

Road Crew

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 soundcheck is through.
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