solemn / spill

this solemn road is approaching

a divergence; in the coming

swerves, over looking a creek

named cabbage. your palm

guides the wheel, now

spinning into spheres. there

are at first three. then my

fingers are at once,

insufficient. as my eyes lean

forth, past our glass

screen now peppered with

dust and rain. there is a

downward incision, a slide

abrupt; leaking before

we spill.

 

 

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