Rear View

It was a dirty buzz
the bop of the street sign
jack knife engine
rapping on a dashboard
heady windows and no exit
summertime south

Fresh from a coffee shop on Tryon
a writer’s clackety-clatch
the metaphor of metaphors
It was sunset Sunday
and we were looking through
the legs of the world
Poetry, macaroons,
and a bawdy imagination
scratching at the teeth
of those deep Charlotte nights

And all I wanted to do was ride
(Cause I never believed that
poetry came from notebooks)
So I grabbed a man with
my painted fingers,
a man with a narrative arc
and a serious pencil
My darling, hand me a sugar
for my cream and don’t
forget to turn off the lights…

And I ride
I ride through the night
till I feel the beat
of the streets way down low
until I make the curve of the skyline
and I drink the dye of the morning
like a long kiss goodnight

From Boston to Phoenix
and over the coast
till every scent of every city
clings to my dress
like stale flowers
I ride until the air runs clean
down to the bones of the desert
and the thumbs of the cacti

I ride till I get
down, down, down
to the ribs of forest
and I can trace the veins
on the breast of the ocean
and straddle the canyons
with my naked thighs
and I can carry the tips
of the glaciers of the highest
mountains on my shoulder blades
and I will continue to ride
until I reach that place
that sits like a stain
at the edge of the world
where Adam and Eve once
devoured each other whole

Some of us, I learned that night,
are only interested
in blurring the lines
and polishing our fingernails
Legends are old
and my mouth is made of fire

23 thoughts on “Rear View

  1. Oooh I could imagine this one being performed as spoken word. And you nudged a nostalgia button there with the mention of Charlotte (and Tryon. I used to work not far from the city center, Trade and Tryon). Nice city.

    And welcome back btw

    🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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