Everyday Canvas

On the Road

Lost Pathways--- if you found yourself on a road in the middle of nowhere with a storm approaching, how would you make your escape? What does the storm represent to you? What meaning does the road itself hold?

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As to the forecast on my cell
a storm’s afoot, but when it’ll break
hard to tell. The news
hasn’t thawed out, yet
and I can’t bet what it’ll be,
killer rain, gale force winds,
hail, a blizzard, who knows?

Something to snap, drop, bulge,
or open my nutty flesh
to show what I hide
in my insides?
Hard to tell on short notice
and flimsy information.
Why is climate a form of persecution?

And the road I’m on
an avenue of emptiness
of an insecure future
freighted by worry in tripled stacks,
on its hollow sidewalks
where dreams stream in circles
and biased obsessions
as if an exhibit of my internal weather.

I seek no escape
since my habits
make a tightly woven kit
for this road
is a universe revolving
to shape my awkward silences
while I reach everywhere
and get nowhere.