Poem: LA Highway

 

LA Highway

 

corpuscles in cubes,

i-don’t-care chins,

an AC absence of sweat,

 

herd-beasts in lockstep

alien to bison 

and passenger pigeons

and the slain roam of the wolf.

 

black rubber circles under metal boxes

don’t care,

don’t have legs, as if to say, 

a stray dog with no collar,

last vestige of wolf,

can’t outrace a carburetor.

 

carburetor. 

it has more stamina 

than millions of extinct pigeons

and yet pleasureless. 

mindless of flight.

bottom-feeder, oil-pan glide.

do they dream of throttles

while they sit there, 

those commuters, 

stuck in rows of red rectangles,

accusing each other

of blotting out the stars?

 

 

 

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7/26/26 ... mods

7/22/25 ... mods ...

6/30/24

red rectangles = brake lights

'blotting out the stars' => thwarted wishes, dreams

12/11/23  lots of mods