14 February 2007

existentialism on quaker lane

how quickly the road falls away before you, conscious, suddenly, of every breath, of your feet inside your maryjanes, your hands inside the wide wool knit of your mittens, the shape of your heart in your chest.

what is this hidden dread, and where does it hang, catching you as you drive? as close as your clouded breath, this winter morning, as sharp as the sunlight gilding the icy power lines, as loud as the quivering engine shaking into life.

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1 comment:

jake said...

wonderful.