Monday, February 23, 2015

6. Chocked

Chocked wheels,
a cart going nowhere,
fast unmoving
in the withering of time.
Dust gathers
crowding the terraces
to watch the decay.

The week could start
with the brakes on,
blinkered to progress
and a road untraveled.
Today is Monday, unmapped;
the week ahead unwrapped,
the path not charted by the stars
but the palm of a broken hand.

This is where love starts
for dust-ridden lives -
first-footing toward a hill
and an ugly scar
that tore the sky
for hours
an Easter.

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