The truck on the bridge clatters overhead,
like I do on the inside,
bleating tarmac fields,
the cacophony of rush hour
echoing the dissonant fugue
playing inside my core.
I lean into the wheel
pushing toward the calm of night
a black-inked road,
mounding and falling,
florescent eyes
boring holes through
a woolen curtain—
Ahead, distant taillights
slice the darkness,
precise incisions scoring the night,
etching a forward trail—
but leaving it
bleeding thick and crimson.
Liza Carens Salerno
7/20/12
11 comments:
I like this :)
Happy Weekend!
Sounds like a helluva drive! ;)
As always, great imagery in your writing, Liza.
Pushing to get through rush hours insanity and home to calm and peace and I understand that. That feeling of a happy sigh as the traffic thins out to the occasional steak of red tailights.
Sia McKye OVER COFFEE
Love the raw image of "bleeding thick and crimson"!!
Take care
x
Me too, love that image of tail lights bleeding thick and crimson. So perfect.
you a poet(ess),,rekcon? I liked this...:)
Wonderful poem. I love that last line--it really stays with you.
I love how colorful your words are.
From start to finish, you painted wonderful images in your poem. Great job!
Such inspired writing for such a common experience. Wonderful!
ditto what yellow rose said. Reminds me that I haven't written any poetry in a while now.
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