Assignment for my 406 class, about a street.
Death, Taxes, And Newport Boulevard
I turn on to you like a boxer turns into
a right hook—and with no less affect.
as familiar as my hands—
as routine as my heartbeat—
as fresh as a gaping wound.
Light after light defies as it
drips…upwards, braking me for
traffic as of yet awake! I crawl along—
in slow…gagging…swallows. Alone.
Again and again, they roast me with their
red eye; arms open to embrace the others,
but no one is there—like the girl that stole
away with my heart that day: painful absence.
And now, steady toward the
honeycomb destiny, I feel the buzz
of your angry bees swarming. My eyes
to the sides are blind to what my eyes
behind see so intimately: a late model
Shiner riding me tight, like I was his wife
and he was fresh out of prison.
Herded at your turnstile,
staggering in paved purgatory, I strain
my neck—almost willing a flow through
gilded gates, but I’ll be dammed:
you punch me onto the freeway,
the free way that always takes its toll—
I drip on to those big
green I’s that coax me to merge
in to their thighs—
like drops of pooling blood
on the floor of the ring.
2007-02-16
10:36:35
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5 answers
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asked by
Anonymous