Oozing
hot asphalt,
tarred and feathered,
she snakes long and black.
Sometimes its one way
no coming back.
Stumble into the nights’ frights
in shimmering, fragile moonlight
with people squirming, screaming.
Alive, streets live, sans delight
in unseen places … out of sight.

Sticky
red, bloody …
death impending,
she seduces all
(using her tact) …
as is her call.
Curves, a torturous parting,
with hearts broken, bruised and smarting.
Feelings, rapid whirlpools rippling,
show compassion never-ending—
ev’ry day a new beginning.

Carved roads
tell stories
that most can’t hear—
listing names of dead
who gave her birth.
They whisper soft
smothered by earth.
Harmonized, no appeal;
their face masks fall, are surreal.
How can blood, meshed, give life?
Are all roads puddles of strife
cutting mountains dull knives?

Oozing
ripples me
I stumble still
in the yawning,
birthing, dawning,
life is spawning
streets alive.