Night Highway
It is the ground ground, the slithery sliding slippery wet,
that sucks the heat and breath with a cool clammy eye, and hissing
snapping like the snappy top of Hammer’s hammer.
Boxing this corner of the world in, cornering the corner
slipping the wet thigh, along the night highway
scrunching the dark night into a small benevolent eyeball,
bursting,
just once before the sun quickens across the sky
falling backwards into a dream sleep
and here we are again
along this cool edge of the last day.
The Wild Angels Poets and Writers Anthology
A Body of Work: Writing with Heart, Soul and Senses
My submissions- by Sandra Lee Schubert © All Right Reserved 2006
Sandra Lee Schubert © All Rights Reserved, 2006-2014
Writing for Life: Creating a Story of Your Own
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