a mamaist vehicle

I walk out of the house that isn't there 

and get into the car that I don't have. 

After settling comfortably behind the wheel 

that I don't grasp, I turn the ignition key 

that isn't in my hand and listen with satisfaction 

as the engine I don't hear begins to rev up, ready

for action. Then, once the emergency brake is released,

I gently put my foot on the pedal which is on 

the floor my feet aren't resting on, and, taking a breath   

I don't inhale, I start advancing slowly along 

a trajectory I don't feel throughout my entire body.      

Soon I'm speeding down a road that I'm not  

traveling on, glancing out the window to the left  

at scenes of woodland, and to the right at a flurry 

of billboards--with the path I'm on leaving the scenes  

behind so quickly that I don't have time to see them.   

I'm heading towards a town I'll never visit in order  

to spend time with people whom I'll never meet, who       

are awaiting the arrival of one who will not arrive, 

not now, not ever, but who at this point is departing      

for a destination which, changing 

again and again and again, is located in 

the unknown, a destination which, like a moment lived 

fully and deeply, is but another word for my life. 

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.