I feel myself abstracting in your mind.
Its strangeness now familiar as a tire track on a dirt road,
the depression embedded in the very fabric of the earth,
servile in fair weather, a muddy trap in a storm,
somewhere to get stuck in a groove longer than a marathon
with varying depth, and, if you slow down,
take a look at the road meeting your every step,
you may stumble across the roots of that tree in the distance
where you plan to relax in the shade
and eat your lunch.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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