My Highway’s Washed Away

This song by DCD swelled this poem up within me –


sitting at my desk,
Criss-cross applesauce
gasping like a dying child.
Dying to flee the corpse of a man.

I, not a child anymore,
Who’s imagination is a broad highway
Layered between the wings
Of a dragonfly

Behind me
Stumbling the furrows
Dust from age trails in the eddies
It is I, running like a child

Wagon wheels gargle and giggle
Ungreased, unglued
Another child watches, and watches
Fingering 99 pebbles in her pocket

Dandelions blink awake
From dust sewn,
Sun pinched wishes
Lost lashes behind me

We, not children,
Chase circles into soil
Tightening the noose
Around the son of the father.

Dragonflies sip
Morning reflections
From a pond surface
My highway’s washed away.

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