Monday, July 16, 2012

Christopher Hivner- A Poem

The Black Tar Rides the Same for Everyone
Roadside lights reached
under my chin
with slender, luminous fingers
tickling my razor-burned skin,
leading me
down the highway.
I rode the white line hard,
playing with the edge
just like she hated.
My headlights were dim,
swallowing the asphalt
in their bluish-white pyramid,
spitting it back in place
behind me
so the next guy
could drive down
the same old road.
That’s the clarity,
the reveal,
we’re all the same
despite the story
the lights try to tell
as you glide by
wallowing in
your private reserve,
in spite of
the road
singing Robert Johnson
in your ears
like you’re the first
to ever hear it,
the black tar
rides the same
for everyone.
The lights shine
and beckon,
the yellow lines
lead you away
from the problem.
That’s the rub,
those are the facts,
we’re all the same.
One day,
we all
want to run.

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