That windscreen Blinked as he left A distant second Dishevelled, disarrayed Bleary-eyed, stared Tinted rain In roads unseen Waited, darkly met
Stranger storm Called to say This unknown pace Brought blazing winds Hoary lightning Can't only be Some different way
Milestones walk With memories Proud, they watch Race petrol vapour Trailing dust Fading smoke It’s Route-22 Cast away Roadblock orange Won't the highway Ever slow down Breathless stop At the caution board And wave
This hypnotic dashboard Sings awhile When gears and tyres Confused, unwarned Roll and gather sheen And no one tells him That he's been shadowed Once before That a dream cascade Has been there since time Under construction
It was to be. A dizzying whiff of words. Mixed in the air. Like a blue vein had cut through pale skin. Remembered. That golden, audacious sight melted every wall. Diffused the ink, brewed cold ash. The acidic cacophony of colour. Left a gash. Wrapped amid rising grass. As a withering yellow rustle trailed behind. Crept, knelt, and breathed low. A touch of a song rose from somewhere. Nebulous, hovering, falling. Drowned everything. Then that haunting ripple. Entered his fearful heart. Pulse pouncing. Impish, smiling, caught in an afternoon getaway.
Like the din of an evening's laugh. Ringing breeze. Hiding in a light-less, crowded corner. In confused rain, familiar banter, and a damning conspiracy. It was to be.