You knew where you were going, now you’re lost–
all cobwebbed by an angry crossroads god,
tangled in puzzle-knots of cloverleafs
and labyrinths of ramps and overpasses:
the Hobson’s choice of left-turn-only lanes
which lead to parking lots of restaurant chains.
Go find the highway writhing like the space
between a dying martyr and his cross.
Go tune your teeth to frequencies of night
where bone-road fades to lonely, winding heart.
Go fly a moon between your dreaming grave
and every unknown rhythm love can drive.
This offering through diesel-smoke and fog
may mollify a spiteful crossroads god.
Kevin Danahy has been writing poems to amuse himself for years; this year he wants to share some poems with others. His poetry has been published in Resurrection Mag. He lives in Burlington VT. Twitter: @kbdanahy
image: Peter Gutierrez