Wednesday, June 6, 2012

By Pearlescence, Shafted

Like the pendulum bob of a great clock
the evening star hangs below the moon
Glancing through my left window as I drive this country road
I swear I see it move
ticking relentlessly
chiming "your time is now!"
And I or never

The red sea of blackest night, parts,
a furrow of pallor, in which lays a shaft of pearlescence
the column, tied between my truck and the heavens
stretched taught above a foot of newfallen snow
I am a tether-ball fastened to the moon
racing along the circumference at the end of my rope
unable to break free

The pale light washes over wrinkled butter creme frosting
an off white sheet cake
formerly known as field J2
I'd give anything to drop headlights
to navigate by the stars as if Magellan
to race along at speeds unimaginable, my path
nothing more than a black line between glowing embankments
a tunnel of radar love

I switch the lights off
but of course, they stay on
dogooders have killed my adventure
as always

I await the day
before I step into the shower I will read,
"helmet required";
and as I turn on my hot water in anticipation of a relaxing,
though helmeted morning,
I'll hear the beeping of an alarm
advising me to engage my shower belt
or stand reported
to the Bore-me Police.

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