incessant Wyoming winds push us south toward the great gash
barren landscapes broken by a ribbon of asphalt
the plucky voyager teeming with bodies
no peace, no silence
the apex of each mountain brings the involuntary retching of the young
no silence, no peace
the captain and first mate of this voyage of the damned have found their victim
hammered by the fears of others the prey cowers and flinches under each word
little pitchers and avid eyes document the unfolding drama
absorbing behaviors for future use
no peace, no escape
solar radiation beats down on unprotected heads at the edge of the chasm
strength and diabolical shrewdness the hallmark of survival
shadows are a few degrees shy of the surface of the sun
flee
return
the edge is only the beginning as pebbles crash and bounce
tears evaporate before they leave the ducts
choices, choices, choices
familiar wars with the need to step into the unknown
one mile to learn how to fly
step back step
return
nothing
the voyager with its passengers has departed
nothing
i have nothing
i am nothing
deserted
Filed under: Leila Gaskin, Poetry, Writing
