The road comes early
Like its been traveling all night
Beat
On blacktop
And the gritof photographs
The pittedglare of the sun
Breaks tree topped hills
With every push of light
Every push of mile beneath his feet
He drives deeper into the falling sky
And rising dirt
Where it is just the sound of his sweat and steel
That makes the difference
He drives harder
At the wild inside
That cuts holes in his gut
The way time cuts men into a million tiny pieces
The way broken bottles build rear view mirrors
Long roads
And men with chains
snap this is hot, got a great rhythm of its own and love the transformative lines...broken men and broken bottles become back windows...hot...i like
ReplyDeletepowerful and sad write dustin..the way time cuts men into tiny pieces..the broken bottles becoming rear view mirrors...great and painful images..dang
ReplyDeleteThis is the type of piece that makes me want to grab my own pen and write. Realistic and fantastic imagery lend even more power...I'm going to shut up now and grab my own pen...you're words have inspired! Thank you!
ReplyDeleteA skillfully crafted and interesting poem. Beautifully done. Visit me! xxxj
ReplyDeleteThis is a very powerful write. Lots of good sounds that strike at the meaning. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteReads very poetic from top to bottom.... I loved the image of the early morning road, each mile pushing him, until it is just the sound of his sweat and his steel.. way cool...... the falling sky and rising dirt, in him like the wild deep inside, but cut to pieces by time. Wow. Spot on life of a man. Broken bottles become the rear view mirrors of where we once were, before we were broken. That's just incredibly awesome!
ReplyDelete