Crossroads

Never have been. . .

hamstrung, redrum and the heartless rangers descending time cease to sell the same as they go flying by.

To dream and die in cold, cold San Diego; to live, love and lie in the salty ocean air

and the iambic meter of wind   crash, wave   dash and dive to here or there.

Forgetful forget-me-not's grow in the late sandy tidal time.

Crossroads; empty words and I'm dying and meeting and dreaming where the rhythm drives.

Red before the season, caught before my days and descending slow.

Rending places unknown and unsung and. . .

might not ever be.

Comments

[marianne van winkle]

kasey, loved this poem. not only could i almost taste the salty ocean air and hear the rumble of the crashing waves, but i could relate my days as a p.a./runner in los angeles to your courier days in san diego. how i miss sunny, southern california!

[Kasey Martin]

Thanks for commenting on this one too. I wrote this while working as a courier in southern California. I didn't mind the job as much as I hated the deadlines and traffic. San Diego can be beautiful, but it's the most annoying city in the world to drive in and their sports fans are kind of annoying (Go DODGERS!). Of course it's not entirely about driving in southern California though.

[amenaj]

this is a beautiful poem!