Arcing the Veins

You looked lost
before the gasoline,
so hot, like your
premonitions, that won’t

come true. For you,
I’m churning, always
wishing for a tumbling
that turns me new:

jade under the ribs,
barely here for you
to pry into… The rear-
view mirror tells

me the storm is climbing
the mountains, then
clambering onward
for us, all rolling over

prairies with the same
rhythm as a blues
guitarist–all low rumbling,
slowly-aching chords to strike.

Advertisements

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s