Friday, December 12, 2008


Driving long distance,
I tire of constantly fiddling
with the radio dial,
let the song I don't like anyhow
fade to static, white noise.
Besides, there's a storm
gathering on the horizon,
choking off reception,
and flashes of lightning insist
on broadcasting through
my flapping antennae anyhow.
As tempest FM
bullies the airwaves,
I hum along to humidity,
rolls of thunder, creeping
darkness, shrapnel rain.
The melody, the rhythm,
are as staccato, as scattered,
as violently unstable,
as why I need to drive alone
some days, this many miles
Erratic, my lover calls it.
She says it like a weather forecast.
I hear it like a road map.

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