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Saturday, April 09, 2016

These Cars

All these cars
are shaped the same -
blobs in the Autumn light

I know how to start
and I know how to end
it’s filling in the middle
that perplexes me

A crayola
a blank page
and lines from my own head

It’s all a great cycle
I tell myself
but I’m stuck with one loop

This may just be
a seasonal slant
rebutting a different

Every rut
has its down side
and its upside

But then again, tell that
to the rusted, abandoned thing
sitting, running-board deep
in a dried-out swamp

And what do you get?
The thought that bumper
to bumper, it might just be you

The leaves bury these things
centimeter by centimeter
over the years, and yet

in the middle of the night
I roll over
into Spring.

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