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Tom McCone May 2014
a moment refines
least of all i, coarse
subdivision of all
second skies, stars,
or nothing, minute
from fall. or fallen
already. asleep for
hours. hope coiled
helplessness around
her wrist, caught my
head. spent days in
space. at least, most
of them. can't help
subduction any same,
another algebra in
stone. collapse like
month's passage. hope
won't speak, every
theory is glowing. a
year dissolves empty,
replacing every field
with stripmalls to
mountains again. a
century forgets regicide.

an eternity later, we
press against the wall
like dust coalescing.
hope strings us up,
couple more
embers in the sky.
some instantaneous forever ago, i fell
Tom McCone May 2013
the door is still ajar and there is still a lamp lit
and hue spills out in a straight line
where I follow markings on the
sides of highways to forget
how I won't forget the impression
you leave on the sidewalk through
season after passage of next to
brightlit stripmalls somewhere
with snowcapped mountains
and lakes and lakes and lakes away know
I'll probably miss you

when streetlights burn down
when stoplights wear out
I'll be out on the ocean
you'll find me in
hillsides on
indian summer mornings
or in
rain flecks on train windows
winding trails around
provinces I'll
never figure out how to pronounce
you won't miss me
Hersch Rothmel Mar 2012
In a car with people I’ve met just hours ago
traveling the east coast like we know where we’re going
But nobody knows, not really
But who needs a destination

Beautiful asphalt and stripmalls cover our landscape
Two lanes then ten lanes where does it end
All night with no cigarets and no **** to spoil my lungs
Seems that every red light does not want to see us go
but the green light breaks its dreams

When the sun rises we’ll still be driving
But who needs the sun to drive
When we do make it, we’ll be better for it
When we make it we’ll never want to leave the car!
JP Goss Sep 2019
Before me, endlessly
If that hideous fraud of humanity,
Where boredom and open contempt
Can be found ******* each other,
Spirituality inherent,
In the concrete of the parkway—
You can see it on their lips
A delicacy as they casually quip
About the quarrel of concrete and steel
Behind roadmaps and getting lost
Is a slave to every master’s destiny—
It’s obvious in the way they drive
So many people feel as though they’ve
Lived such fulfilling lives
It’s reassuring that no one on this road
Is afraid to die
We comfort ourselves on Nietzsche’s words
But such prayers get drowned out on the freeway
In the roar of busy, inward-facing cabs
Willing to maim and be maimed
Willing to **** and die
For a few minutes more,
Risking an entire lifetime
For a few minutes more
In stripmalls and McMansions
Along America’s thoroughfares,
God closes the window as he deadbolts
The door, seeing what we’d give
For a few minutes more.

— The End —