Road Home

photoLeaves and walls and windows spin,
a jigsaw broken by a falling sun.
Heat,
the road home,
a breaking storm.
I wonder what we began.

There is no calm centre,
power and colour after.

Yesterday isn’t the journey,
no lies built or truths undone.
Rest
was a right.
Fantasies told
of tomorrow’s plan.

There is no map,
you are not measured.

Lamps fail and thunder’s quick,
duty’s a dead engine.
You
are a dream.
I never woke
and never wanted.

This is no ending,
our long day’s after.

Your warm hands drive the day
and frame day-glo memory.
Talking
with you,
silently
mountains fall.

I have no use for cool.

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