Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on September 29, 2012
Route 50 bisects Nevada like a cinch belt
or a coroner's cut
300 miles of sun-baked asphalt
most of it arrow straight
so monotonous, bends in the road are interesting
you really feel their pull
you look back where you came from
to see how the view's changed
stare at the new view opening ahead
how many painted center stripes
how many Botts' Dots
doubtless someone's counted—
out there somewhere between Austin
and Fallon there was a stillness once
like the primordial stillness
before the Big Bang
then someone had to go put a road through it
but a wisp of it still clings in places
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on September 28, 2012
The air show begins!
loud, buzzing, strafing aircraft:
our desire for flight.
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on September 23, 2012
The crows have returned
in cackling, arguing murders
to negotiate the descent of fall
black wings make
a charcoal drawing
of summer-spent sky
they change the wind
sound becomes flaccid
the garden relents
we have no say
can only watch them spread death
and trust their judgment
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on September 20, 2012
Sunset’s red eye
is creeping south
hoping to catch a glimpse
of the other side of my room
yes, even the sun gets bored
and seeks a change of scenery
something to fill the long hours
between now and then.
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on September 20, 2012
What we cannot see
we guess at
what we cannot guess at
we imagine
what we cannot imagine
does not exist for us.
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