circles:
blinking eyes
beyond,
eyelashes long and
golden, dusty;
flies
interspersed
still yet
moving,
inches become
miles,
through alchemy
to kilo-
metres
skin beneath
metal,
air beneath
exhaust fumes:
and in the driver’s seat
the unthinking
be-jeaned,
be-plaid-shirted
blue collar
robot
driving,
surviving,
one eye:
glassy,
still, and
searching
Thursday, June 5, 2014
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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.
- Emily Dickinson