Far from a Straight Line

Black, flat tire heart, my plan

for you was always cross country

Even ferrying the ocean

was a tight lug nut concept

Barreling ahead, the glare

of “wet pavement” signs

foretelling tears that would leave me:

evaporate,

condensate,

& precipitate                                                        again

But I didn’t know that then

I didn’t see the strip of lies in the road,

the razor-sharp manipulation

that would shred the only way I know

how to get from

point A to                                                             point B

 

 

You can also read this poem here

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