by
Steve King
©
2013
You
are hurtling,
one
stop to the next,
on
and on,
a
faint, elusive point
perpetually
gone,
arrival
and departure synonyms,
reciprocating
echoes
melded
in the vacuum of transit.
And
how do you get off?
Is
one locus
better
than the next?
One
new arrival
keener
than the rest?
There
is always just one more,
and
then another gesturing beyond,
always
an horizon to be filled
one
scintilla at a time
with
the ready stylus
of
your fickle needs.
Even
so, your hands tighten.
You
grasp a-hold
your
pounding wheel.
Ready,
you think,
to
move trajectory
without
calculus or care.
You
are used to taking chances here,
No
problems, you are thinking
as
you wait
ready
soon
time
all
too
perfect
now
Posted
for Open Link Night at the dVerse Pub http://dversepoets.com/
