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daniel-a-russPoems
Tapping the vein at the section of upper and lower arm striking the needle deep, jagged and rough, upon notice that Second isn't a one-way street anymore. Must have changed while I was gone. My Malibu, swerving viciously to avoid the old Grand-Am finds its way into the right lane the only lane fitting like a glove on the wrong hand. Ahead, 475 dictates my exit. A detour, the sign says, with little ostentation, even more accuracy. The highway vomits me away, chewed and confused, an exit before my usual. Though the path ahead veers straight as a needle, it's two miles downwind. Two miles behind. Great symbolism, I tell myself, pressing hard on the accelerator.
0
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:12 AM UTC
Needle-Point Construction
Tapping the vein at the section of upper and lower arm striking the needle deep, jagged and rough, upon notice that Second isn't a one-way street anymore. Must have changed while I was gone. My Malibu, swerving viciously to avoid the old Grand-Am finds its way into the right lane the only lane fitting like a glove on the wrong hand. Ahead, 475 dictates my exit. A detour, the sign says, with little ostentation, even more accuracy. The highway vomits me away, chewed and confused, an exit before my usual. Though the path ahead veers straight as a needle, it's two miles downwind. Two miles behind. Great symbolism, I tell myself, pressing hard on the accelerator.
Written by
daniel-a-russ
American
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:12 AM UTC
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