Touching

Everyone, all laughs
flying down the road
while thoughts spin like daisies
and eyes begin to fall down into their laps
as if truth could be found in
the folding of the fabric
in the contours of their jeans
And everyone is holding hands,
pretty cream colored hands
When a flash of white
smashes the illusion
that they are all touching
and the windshield begins to cave
and the blood begins to spread
and the laughter dies
and the eyes continue to stare
down and empty