Thursday, May 29, 2014

Traffic Echoes

I stopped at the table,
the dining room table,
the one in the middle
of my small room.

I stood there for a while,
listening to the roar
of the highway
just off the fringe.
too loud,
to the odd
dissonance of cars
meeting in the middle.

Is there is anything better
than the sweeping sounds
of speed as pavement gets

I can’t hear it.
It winds and woes,
and spills.

They sweep,
they swoosh,
they swindle.

I put my keys on the
Hoping for the strange

Before the birds
start chirping.

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