Careening through a stark and starry landscape
at 70 miles an hour: constellations of crystals
glittering on pavement, warm shapes darting,
eyes gleeming, skittering forms that disappear
at the edge of the pavement like billiard balls
dropping into toothy pockets; hills heaving
to obliterate swaths of stars, black on black.
Jerking back to consciousness after a tiny lapse,
a skip on the old vinyl, called to attention
by a baying at the moon, hysterical winking
of red and blue lights, streaking past a something
mangled in the ditch, groteque tangle attended
by humanoid shadows stark against the rage
of the light, subliminal flick of the Inferno.
Reluctantly reminded of life on the edge:
sometimes we leap, and sometimes we fall.
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