Rear view

The smile of traffic signals annihilates me.
City lights. What does it mean?
Tongues of streets licking my wheels,
Their constant whipsawing makes me retch;
Color drains from the spot, dull whitewalls.

The sun flickers on and off as sheets of
Smog grow heavy,
My headlights like carbon paper crumpled
In a view; the rest of me crawls
Through the haze, beaten painted skin.

The sin, the sin. My engine wheezes and cries;
A snuffed life. I’m in a fright.
Weak in a crib of rust, eating in, I am no longer pure;
My body no longer infinitely chromed,
I think I am going to the yard.

In a scrapheap province, in a pit of bodies,
Where a wrecking ball flies so blindly,
Unlucky the classic born; time has beaten the
Mileage of me, the doom mark.
Dull, dull the indelible smell of rust fisted in a metal.

Copyright © 03/08/18 lance sheridan®

Rear view

Advertisements

4 comments on “Rear view

  1. Barbara says:

    Lance another winner – the images painted an unbelievable painting so alive and full of believable happenings taking place in daily traffic. This reader could visualize every minute descriptions coming from the mouth of the writer bringing the entire trip alive and busy. Excellent!!

  2. rabirius says:

    Excellent again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s