furiously they appear like apparitions
straining their engines and wheels
belted steel, industrial rubber, woven demon fibers
crossing white broken lines in darkness
weaving frozen traffic in seconds
a nightmare of TV movies, ‘juegos de muerte’
while horror etches into glass faces, oblivion

this highway stretches across a city
concrete and metal ready to explode
into oil black, blood red, eighty-seven proof fire
arms, legs, torsos, leaning into death’s curves
steering too slow, certain motion’s end
gathering random unwilling victims
just for the fanatical flight of hellions

-cec

I came along to a road block on route 33
there was no traffic so I just rode my electric bike on the shoulder
I saw a lot of debris and blood on the road
the cops weren't paying attention, so I went closer
It appeared to be what was left of a man
or a bunch of ground meat with what appeared to be a whole eyeball

with an actual eyebrow

and a shoe

to me, it looked like a left eye

police came running at me and had their hands in their weapons yelling at me to get back

I panicked a little and about rode right through the meaty matter

I made it just a few meters away before I heard them closing in

I got on the ground
the one with a voice yelled at me
he said something about human remains

I started laughing so diabolically that the voice stopped
I'm thinking to myself...

"and I can't go around?"

I laughed continuously and uncontrollably for a good 10 minutes

I must have totally lost my mind this time

I hope so...

I hope so

when I got home later that day, someone told me that they found Kenny dead today

in the middle of route 33

I started snickering...

I broke out into a cackle

I laughed so hard, for so long, that it became very painful

I couldn't stop

my best friend had went through something dreadful

I still say that it didn't look like his eyeball and left eyebrow

then again
who am I to say what another man's eyeball and left brow would look like

on top of a pile of meat and blood..

and one shoe

Bahahaha
ouch
oh the agony!

this is serious

this is not sweet insanity

Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door,
yet again.

Who is he,
The man in the sweaty tee-shirt,
Standing in the center
While cars **** round
The roundabout?

He holds a digging tool,
Remains of weeds clinging.
He waves at a city parks truck
Rounding on its way
To the main building.

I know him.
We taught together once.
His doctorate in ministry:
Servant lives and how to lead them;
Mine in words and letters,
And how to read them.

I wonder as I drive away:
The tenuous lives we lead;
No predicting whether next year
I'll be learning with students
Or pulling weeds on a highway.

Vicissitudes of Life...

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