Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Route 89, poem from 1996

Route 89
Originally published in Tangents Magazine, 1996

The past slowly wilts
like ice sculptures lost
the three o'clock sun,
evaporating stone by stone
as it wraps itself
in vines and fading paint.,
while the younger shapes
build themselves up
with plastic and shine,
hoping to survive
when the twilight calls them home.

Time counts the distance
spent traveled hour to hour,
of what has been
along the journey.
Voices and their faces
fall by the wayside,
submerging and switching
with the others,
leaving only the smoky remains
of what has gone, and only returns
in patches and flashes of rememberance.

The survivors move on,
slowly changing the shades
and the faces with time,
although the path never alters.

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