Doughboy

Doughboy, beige puddles
on your white back
and a nose the color of lips.
Crossing and recrossing,
driving since three am,
testing out the knee.
Doors keep closing
and it's not paranoia,
they're to keep you out.
Other doors open,
night and dancers get in,
and you're incorrect 
to warn us.
Still, relax. 
Tomorrow there will be a parade.
UV drums and litter,
meat smells from meat alive and dead,
and you mustn't worry about any of it.
The road's not needing us
anytime soon. 
So curl in a 
light-brown 
doughnut shape,
and though you're only half-glazed, 
you're ready. 
Feel the highway 
vibrating 
in your stay still dreams.