Outerbelt

Speedway soars

without pit or champion.

Glow of dashboard.

Echo of centrifugal force.

Cars never cross the finish line

bleached with tire marks.

White-knuckled steering wheels.

Endless narrow-eyed loop.

At night there is no grandstand. 

I am the only fan.  Awake.

Dizzy with silent exhaust.

Inhaled secrets.

Drivers envy the cool

underside of my pillow.

I hide under the covers.
Dream headlong.

tk/November 2014


Charming read by R.A.D. Stainforth and Amy the cat...

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Passing Place

Pass through town― 

where traffic lights change

without traffic― 

to single-lane outside the muddy bay.

Drive gently beside me,

sand in your hair, like in your dream― 

hoisting from water to headland

can be messy.

Pull forward to a passing spot,

beyond the guardrail.

Raise a one-finger salute― 

then press, to lip-read my intentions.

Disregard the carefully folded map.

Pray to your own hand― 

my America ― my new-found land.

You know the way.

tk/August 2013 

Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth for momentarily stepping out of his black and white world to read this poem.

photo by Steven Kelly 

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