Parking Space
Metro auto wipes against my glass muck,
fog and rain crush the inside out of me —
There part of her appearing windshield down;
this myself, a glitter in the stoplight —
Now the slick and slip of odd out borders —
this accidental Déjà Vu ploughed steel;
Where the upside of this doll backseat pass —
my brass wheels, they spin only for your world,
And then to the swallows new to this air —
the color of heart still beneath our tires.
|