Of Asphalt

November 18, 2008

Black rubber, black road, white stripe, grit of gravel,
music interrupting the assault of wind on a half-rolled window,
in the distance, suspended above it, the world melts.

The bounce, bounce, bounce of balls
calling each day,
echoing into its flat resistance.

Offering its peculiar tarry incense
to the child lying on her back,
killing time.

In the still, headlamp lit night,
the dark ocean around a big box store,
the loneliness of the freeway blowing by.

Knowing burnt rubber
and the knees of children.
Knowing sky.

The quiet of a hotel pool in winter,
the space inside the mouth,
wrapping up the earth.

by Lisa Jones

Download the MP3

add to del.icio.us :: Stumble It! :: post to facebook :: Digg it :: add to reddit :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: add to ma.gnolia :: seed the vine :: add to fark :: TailRank

  1. November 18, 2008 at 1:30 pm

    Wow. This is very moving, very frightening, though I don’t know that I can say why.

  1. No trackbacks yet.
Comments are closed.
%d bloggers like this: