zafusy

Road was spent fuel, smelled like cherries
from dead mouths
into the nets of the rain
we drove, the doors of the city
unhinging behind.

I can piece together what it means
to pursue a road to conclusion.
We were blue light and striped
distance, I held a stumped wheel
a chewing-gum gummed map.

There was delirium in the way
and into the air’s void
a sense of passing, trees cried
turn this into language later.

We arranged a barrier against dream
called being awake
but never held up for long.
A lake lunged at us, it was full of dark
the shape of a full stop

puddles will still break when we are old

under the tongues’ tip was a word so
powerful it could unplug the past.
The weather never said a word
as storms can’t be measured,
the broken-free chassis moved us apart.

Giles Goodland

View all poems by Giles Goodland