Winding roads and one-way traffic
Heading to a poetry reading,
rounding every turn
like a metaphor
emerges from a idea.
Passing  headlights
squinted eyelids,
Ditchweed on the roadsides
lay flat and brown
on icelandic mudbeds.
Driving through a bare, tree-lit tunnel,
a library smiles off in the distance.
                            ---
Standing behind a podium
ready to send my words off
to sneak into a listener's mind
like a Trojan Horse,
let them deploy an army of sword-less warriors
ready for action.
A perpendicular sequence of events
reveal new paths on an old map.
On the road again,
back home,
the sunrise in my rearview mirror
reaches my imagination.