The Brink

Iron down the road of time

For a drive that no longer rides

Stranded on a busy street

Tiptoe on the gutter’s brink.

Balanced on the bittersweet

breeze of memory.

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An Ode to the Desert Car

You seem bent and out of shape. Your music vibrates a low-fi hum with grinds of shifting gears. I adored you. The way you provided protection and direction. An escape and a sanctuary. How many adventures have we reached? Missed appointments and bare feet. A clutter of life thrown in the backseat. How many hot days have you protected me, thrown the seat back and let me sleep. Been the lifeline of long distance lust and getaway from those I could not trust. Oh, dear car of fabric, plastic and metal, I wished you were here to be my hero.