V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





Loops of blood 
lacing snow-covered wheat 
were lit by lucent beams, 
blue and red, as this 
silent bend of road 
curving through fields 
hosted a metallic 
disintegration, nine torn cars, 
sketching grids of black 
beneath a rain of glass. 
            But the flares burned out, 
and their diamonds of ash 
washed off the road .  Our tires 
erased the insurance 
paint, headlight fragments 
sunk under the soil, 
and the road gashes 
rounded through 
summers, indecipherable, 
even the blood-fed 
wheat sent overseas.

© by Doug Jones


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