Bess Kemp


we lie and ache
in delicious bed
drunk like the Spring
pink moon


all we are is
all alone
linked by
urban sprawl the
varicose veins of
black freeway
an angry gray sky
hovers over
like a question that
will remain unanswered:
what is it
we have become?

Journeying home

miles of cliched
road song
stretch out like
elastic bands of fortune

where the highway leads
is into horizons
that were never really lost
only hidden by
man-made complication


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