Poetry & Prose


The highway’s coated, heart by heart, with red;
I plan to be its next warm casualty.
The soil, the air, every attempt at hope
is human, after all; I think I could
recover. Take me, drive me, coast to coast.
I haven’t had enough of desperate love
affairs. Are you my next, oh much maligned,
my land, my heart, is yours? As much as mine.
I start to think I might bleed blue and white.

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