Tuesday, 28 April 2015

1 New Poem

Return Trips
The bonfire flicker-crinkle of
gas station roadmap in wearing passenger
seat fabric, outdated both, from 1971
before four-lane extensions and the
naming of Nunavut, fiddled with two
stain patches of nicotine yellow,
symbolized with roiling of red ink,
the fold crease of wrong turn

Echoes of ancient shores, the first
of oaken oar to tredge, the
first settler's shoeprint, ring out
in the blue hues of bridge iron,
the browning oxygen of 20s Ford,
carving walls, mythological
mirroring right back to
the heart of it.

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