Tuesday, June 07, 2005

The 55

extending to fragmented
parcels of land
like the expressway
i can't touch what you touch
i can't smell or feel
the ways of the backroads

rumor's that we connect somewhere
and every once in a while i see
a glimpse of you
through the cyclist and
his son,
the chevy and its ton
off and to the right
my shoulder

and i wonder
do we share the same vista
do we stretch & ache beneath the same canvas?


  1. This one, I get.
    good stuff.

  2. thank you, thank you.

    as i said earlier, it was one of those stream of consciousness works with smaller ambitions.


Be kind. Rewind.