The roadways finesse our tongues bashfully;
through shagged over-growth & reasoned slopes
its roping waves with white arms & awaits
attention. There are markings along the way.
A sense of sabotage leaks & travels from ravine
to ravine, running carefully. Casualty, tree trunks
& trash ironed flat by chance. It is true the day
ends & that a harness is only worth what it holds.
We are belted & moving forward with just a handful
of matches & nothing worth striking, while amnesty
dreadfully follows anticipating open windows.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s