I am contemplating doing a series of spoken versions of my previously published poems. The three poems from The Opiate Magazine are my test run. I have never done a reading or an open mic, or read my poems to anyone except Joe and the dogs and cats, so please bear with me as I work out the kinks.
This is the second of three poems from the 2019 Winter issue of The Opiate Magazine, along with the spoken version from my YouTube page.
Tire tracks scar history onto the asphalt,
pulling travelers into the story of a lost highway.
The heat hits the ground like a truck barreling
into the skin of the pavement.
It is a road that time spat out,
where secrets take cover in trees
that stand like sentinels,
waiting for the rain to lull roots from the dust.
Dreams bloom under a veil of branches,
plucking shamrocks as they fall from the sky.
Music winds its melody into the clouds,
colors clamoring to saturate the air,
until the hum of an engine creeps over the hill,
leaving the metallic scent of death on the landscape.
*first published in The Opiate Magazine