Mist, with some shadows

of animals in the side --


of the road, hit, dead.

I miss the open highway
I’m besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair?

When my foot’s on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that’s the rush I’m after.

Where are we going?
There’s just no knowing,
and no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.

One thing was guaranteed,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.

I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the speedometer edged past ninety
how my escort, Charles, would glare at me.

I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn’t freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.

The water on the ground
Is no longer fake,
As I take a look in the rearview.

Huh, I’m crying.

And it’s in this moment
I take a second
To accept the fact

                  I miss you.


Oh how I wish
I’d known,
Before driving
These backroads   alone
My heart and soul
Are objects of old,
And bigger

                          Then they appear.

That this pathway to heaven
Gripped by desert horizon
Was just escape for a women
Who cannot function
And is blinded
                          By fear.

Well, that’s life.

I tried.
Goodbye.
I ride.
Until the end of time,

                          My dear.

big is the mind of all
travel the road what else
foam from the ocean is life
mystery is just ignorance

As a child, I idolized one day getting a license
Now I'm 17 in a red '94 convertible with the top down, loving
How it feels when my metal daisies pull my ears from the force of wind
I like the adrenaline rush I get when I can scream because no one is around
And that I don't have to feel bad for not talking to anybody
I like the way my car shakes when I blast the volume to 35
Or when I push it faster faster faster than it should go
I like the stick on my skin because of the North Carolina humidity
When I reach my arm out of the window, leaning toward a stranger
Summer's almost over, but I just want more time following the sunset home
On the open road

(why not?
it is a poetic place to be)

I think I was here in a past life as a whale
I saw it happen
the cleaving, millions later, the taking
I might have been there
when pangaea heaved herself out
this coastline, primordial
designed to be passed through,
remembered
lest we get bored and forget about
all the stolen land

rare Romantic sublime
lapis, aquamarine, sapphire
all at bat with black cliffs

you must digest it all quickly
say you have been
long to return
but maybe not.

You stay where I live—
no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head.
Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few
left in my phone. These are just running thoughts,
as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them.
Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift.
But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on
the road.

Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind,
reminded of a cold world out there.
Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare,
and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends,
tread your grounds carefully of where you walk.
Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the
winter rains slipping on the road.

A side note of my love to rhyme...
by second nature to plan the ending word to second line.
Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme,
and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line.
Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like
winter rains slipping on the road.

This poem inspired was inspired by my walk
through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac,
holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go.
My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated
eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the
road.

This winter is cold.