13.1k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
Binge After The Holographic Time Warp We’ve been racing our vehicles hard back-and-forth through time flowing through intersections missing off-ramps speeding past posted police. We worry about being pulled over. But, the sun starts to rise and a road ahead gleams brilliant. We go faster the better. And, on these journeys employ navigational gear rewritten map heads. Familiar road signs seen stops along the way nostalgic places consume, refuel. Places we dream never match expectation. Sweet memory she couldn’t leave a sawmill town now shut down. No logs jam a river. Brakes unemployed roll past a ghost town not torn down but heart drawn shapes by exes and ohs eat through thinning paper. Can I still come to your house? echoes over wire black strung overhead. Loop through past farm fields if not inserted strip malls, gas stations or pearly banks. So many degrading institutions. Your heap groans into bends of roundabouts merging with semis taking two lanes. If you double back through that slip-second portal wormhole to present pull into that holographic hole throw off coat skin wash hands ignore potatoes growing tubers in a pantry void (experimental, hypothetical not dead yet, but not alive) that could peel you order out tonight again binge. Pictures so clear cannot be traded for fuzzy, particled reception on the dumpster-tossed once road-ready 7” television glowing connected to a 9-volt lighter outside a cab underneath that canopy of starlit leaves with dissatisfaction. Hi-Def lies the truth about our memories. 10.28.22 I don’t care if it strays from metaphors or fails to illume imagination from inside a bubble-wrapped head. |