A blur or two from a desolate hunger
bend and hook and circle a mountain,
scream across a vast flat plain,
almost drown in a white water river.
By night, you’re reaching far out of yourself
to grasp what isn’t there.
By day, you wrap your arms around
whatever moves you – local bus,
the sixteen wheeler you flag down.
But eventually the journey settles
into what is best for you.
You dangle off the edge of the scenery.
You get by on tourist food.
Cheery table cloths and countryside –
they really lay it on for solitude.
Life’s like those tunnels cut through
mountains, you reckon.
There looks like no way possible
and suddenly you’re out the other side.
Heat of desert and 1.99 special,
canyons and buttes and turquoise trinkets,
cowboys and rattle snakes,
and what about those poor farms
with rich faces?
You call a truce with how you’re feeling.
Other lives will do that to you.

John Grey is Australian born poet, playwright, musician, Providence RI resident since late seventies. . Has been published in numerous magazines including Weird Tales, Christian Science Monitor, Greensboro Poetry Review, Poem, Agni, Poet Lore and Journal Of The American Medical Association as well as the horror anthology “What Fears Become” and the science fiction anthology “Futuredaze.” Has had plays produced in Los Angeles and off-off Broadway in New York. Winner of Rhysling Award for short genre poetry in 1999. I collect early editions of MaAd Magazine.

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