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Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The City Is a Garment
by Michael R. Burch

A rhinestone skein, a jeweled brocade of light,—
the city is a garment stretched so thin
her neon colors bleed into the night,
and everywhere bright seams, unraveling,

cascade their brilliant contents out like coins
on motorways and esplanades; bead cars
come tumbling down long highways; at her groin
a railtrack like a zipper flashes sparks;

her hills are haired with brush like cashmere wool
and from their cleavage winking lights enlarge
and travel, slender fingers ... softly pull
themselves into the semblance of a barge.

When night becomes too chill, she quickly dons
great overcoats of warmest-colored dawn.

Published by The Lyric, Sonnetto Poesia, Poetry Life & Times, The Eclectic Muse, Freshet, Better Than Starbucks, Jar of Quotes and Verse Weekly

Keywords/Tags: City, rhinestone, garment, neon, colors, night, bright, lights, cars, highways, motorways, railroads, sparks, hills, river, barges, boats
kaycee Mar 2020
He's a benz and I'm his Santa Fe but the way he looked at me made me feel like a Ferrari.

Bright hot red shiny metal glistening in the sun, lust colored eyes revving up my engine (spirit).

Sleek, calm, mature.

Mercedes, tell me when you'll be ready for love and I promise to come running at full speed.
Emily Mitchell Feb 2020
Wet pavement shining
tail-lights like rockets flaring
cars fly down the road.
Written on March 30th 2013 this was inspired by the way the light reflects off the wet pavement looking like a rocket flare going straight down beneath the car
Danté Le Beau Feb 2020
People often associate men with cars, in a tired and often over played out stereotype that is often untrue.
People who love cars often have a deeper view.
Some believe that the purest form of power is oh so very addictive,
While other love the solitude, and freedom of thought, non-restrictive.
For many it’s the style and looks
And maybe they’ve seen them all in books.
But maybe it’s a deeper chasm than anyone could articulate,
A passion burning bright and great.
And maybe it’s all of the above or maybe something more.
Just know that when someone’s passionate, they could never be a bore.
Cars are like a moving picture book, filled with dents and memories, one for each of the stains,
So seeing a car be crushed, fills them with this unbelievable distain.
They bring people together and cover far and wide,
Causing the distance between loved ones to subside.
They light up our faces and lives and bring on grins five-miles wide,
And when we get our first, our hearts swell up with pride.
So when someone says they’re passionate about automobiles,
To them it’s an immense deal.
This is not a box with 4 wheels of rubber
This was the chariot that brought them to their lover.
Psychostasis Jan 2020
Sometimes I hear things when I drive
Most of the time it's car horns
Sometimes it's the screeching of tires on asphalt screaming to be stopped
I try not to focus on it because you shouldn't be distracted while driving
So I keep my hands on the controls
And my eyes on the road

Sometimes in the mirrors I see your face
Glowing faintly like some kind of ethereal movie image
Sent by a projector with a bad bulb
Sometimes I wonder if I drive alone or if you're there
But that train of thought sends my misled hands faulty directions
And I drift out of my desired lane

Sometimes I wonder if the voice coming from the speakers is yours
And if its the same voice haunting the air vents
Whispering lies into my vulnerable mind
I try to ignore them but it gets to me after a while
And eventually my glass house of bottled substance abuse and sustenance comes crashing
Leaving my hands to crawl on a broken field of glass and reanimated pains that slept dormantly at peace

So I staple my hands to the wheel
And glue my eyes to the road
And try my hardest not to cry and swerve into the first car or railing or tree I see
And pretend that face in my mirror behind me is just the trick of the light

I still think about the tree you hit
I never told you that we visited it once after you
But only once

I ran my fingers across the twisted and scarred bark
I studied the missing chunk of wood and felt nothing but an ache in the pit of my soul

I'd visit it again sometime if it weren't for the same reason I haven't visited you:
I don't know where to go.

Roads and highways and backwoods remind me of the cemetery you rest in
Each tree, each house, each street light and sign
All of it looks the same
Much like the gravestones creating the labyrinth you stay in

But if one day I do stumble across your grave
Or that tree
I'll bring you a grape soda and a blunt
And a Mickey Mouse for your collection
And we can talk again
Just me and you

Hopefully I get a response
Jordan Hudson Jan 2020
JDM
Down so low and down we go
Stance so low the ground we throw
Spit the rocks and mark the lot
Grab your friends, grab them hoes
Endless drive with what you got
Speed down the road make that show
See the crowd go whoa lets roll
Ya, ya
Drop the top, watch them drive
Watch them drift and slide, ya
Low as can go, so low to the ground
Ace this ride at the show in the town
Windows up and the windows down
Depends on who be hangin' around
Pass by quickly, make some cash
While they pass and while I crash
They roll off the curbside and
I roll off by exit signs
Empty tank while they keep going
Bumps and holes, my stance keeps mewing
Hitting every one that I see
Cringing every time its too clean
Making a living and making stacks
Living at home and living at the track
I can go and yes I am back
You all gonna see what you lack
Sitting at the back side you all gonna see
What I can do and what I have for me
Place down at the table, make the bet
I got this and I ain't gonna let
All you dominate and take the crown
I gonna take this town take down
Ya, Ya
The throne while you sit aside
You are sad and trash I can drive
Can't go no where don't you lie
Take the backseat while I drive
Enjoy this sweet and fast ride
The others slowly follow behind
They all gonna drift and turn
What they gonna see is my flames burn
Listen to that bass and that exhaust
The sounds of the others getting lost
Way back there I'm up here
Where did they go can they not steer
They cannot even race
They just can't keep up with my pace
While I get ahead they behind
I'm up here can they find
Flash the lights and drive away
Get up there and we can stay
Masha Yurkevich Jan 2020


If you can park it

and not turn around
to look at it
as you walk away...




you haven't bought the right car.


I have nothing to say...
MisfitOfSociety Jan 2020
I can't feel my spirit.
This body is so strange to me.
Slipping through the subway grates,
My flesh dissolves into plastic seats.
I feel no difference between it and me.
Work my fingers across my face,
To see if I am still there.

Vanishing and appearing in the reflection again,
I don't identify with that thing that I am.
It feels like I am separate from it,
It feels like I don't belong in it.
No longer a temple,
No longer a place for a spirit.

One great big seductive neon distraction,
Convincing us into buying:

L-shaped couches,
Makeup kits,
Brand new cars
and television sets.

I work for freedom and pay for slavery.
The things I own I've become.
**** it all, who needs freedom?
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