Tuesday, September 6, 2011


The Highway

My brain opened, before
My eyes, to blackness, complete
And without direction, consciousness
And only that.

My neck was solid, trapped
By nothing. Fear made me
Helpless, shouting to blank

As the belt came into focus
He was above me, choking,
Helpless there, his thick chest
Hanging heavy and still.

His halting convulsion woke me,
I knew again the buckle.
My voice was weak, the highway

Burning shock left legs lay rigid,
Sliding forward before my body,
Fingers walking gently
Glass and pavement.

Cold, alone on the highway, fighting
To stand and failing in spasm fire.
My voice and vapor breath
The only working piece.

Hearing steps and knowing he
Remained beneath the belt
And straining silent, trapped
Inside himself.

She held me sweatshirt warm and eyes,
Pity and confidence wooing
Panic shivering innocence. Calm,
She knew where he would go.

They bend and lift and cut me
Free, strapping tightly board
And mask. I cannot breathe, despite
Their assurances.

Moving, there is no curious now
How it will be. My body, plastic
Suffocating humid defines
Awareness and time.

The rising sickness, the shifting
Equilibrium, flat and rigid, covered
With faces, blind and nowhere
Beyond existence.

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