The hitchhiker

Will it occur
In one of these torsos of metal and glass,
Winged fins and eye-sockets for lamps.

Awaiting hitchhiker

Guileful and crass;

Invisible air drifts to give him an expression,

Thumb motioning for a distance,
Thumb up towards the night.
An old moon taking up space
Scooting to rest behind an ominous cloud;
Dark planet moving and rubbing on the light.

Hood ornament nosing for a stop:
Rubber mats, whitewalls;
Traveling person,
How will your night play out in thin air?
A heart loses itself, emptied into a wish.

A smile fell on the pavement,
Sat empty, unredeemed;
Your gesture flaked off in a shriek.

Spirals of hot bullets traveling

By the shooter’s annihilation,
Such coldness;
Globes of red spilling from a vein.

Small breath, smell of death.
Red earth and wooden coffin;
Their flesh and the glory forever.

Copyright © 12/11/2018 lance sheridan®

The hitchhiker