The car stops
The middle of the road
Deserted, quiet
A hundred miles from home
Lights flash
Blinking out a warning –
Should I be here
Or still at home,
Still in bed
The dreamscapes spreading
Like melted butter
Or redemption’s promise?
Still blinking
Yellow, orange, red
And what was it that
I came here for?
A change
A retrospect?
A reason tattooed
On life-worn skin?
A number on a page
In a book
On a shelf
Of some forgotten library
In some forsaken town
Where you leave your shoes
And your belt
At the gate
And listen as
The doors close in?
Engine silent
Stills the night
And chills the tremors
As they sleep
The cub-fox whimper
Disappearing
Swallowed by its den
And isolation’s silence
Slices
Grid marks in the night
That lead to neither
Here nor there
But feast upon
The stars,
And cat’s eyes fade
From memory
And power’s whimpered
Gasp
But dreams return
Assassin ghosts
Their fangs and claws
Exposed,
And was it this
I came here for
To drown in silent words?
Or find myself
Upon a road
That disappeared from view?
And all these signs
That I once saw
Flooding into view
Did they sprout
From idle hands
To lead me from
A home?
And was that
In the distance
Another car like mine
With tail lights dying
With the stars
In the middle of
The road?
© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018
