I’m frequently awakened from tranquility like a lunar lander disturbing eons of silt by the sound of a murderous horn sticking the stillness like a slit throat erupts a desperate moan caught there the motorist is a man, made foul like everything possessed, just ours a moon, an animal, and empty road drive your soul…
Ribbons Ridden
Ribbons of asphalt Ridden and flung — Ribbons of flesh Ripped and wrung. © Dale Schierbeck 2014 Read more poetry here
We Become the Wind
We grow and pulse A green algae bloom Of spandex tight Coalescing Undulating Stretching across Weightless Frames of carbon-fibre Gleaming Resin and aluminum Hands wrapped tight on mounts Heart-rate monitors Quicken with waiting breaths Tinted, eyes are compounded Glances everywhere Heads strapped by helm Bowed Praying for protection Strength Quads and hams Fill with blood…