Dream Highway

DREAM HIGHWAY

A woman dresses in knives.

Curved blades
designed for disemboweling.

This woman who first planted the dark roots
of her kiss against your lips.

Her roots haunted everything:
second-year Algebra,
fraternities dissolved into pot smoke,
marriages on the rocks.

But these roots
also altered DNA.

They sent satellites
around the earth so many times
that even governments became suspicious.

Eventually, though, these roots
as satellites like annoying alarm clocks,
found our homes
and buzzed
our romantic dreams.

Woman in knives,
is she
what you expected
when you first tasted her?

Is she younger,
older
than you expected?

Remember the morning she last entered
your dream
and mingled with strange relatives
packing boxes for a move?

Relatives heading cross-country somewhere
based upon a map
that never existed?

She left
in a separate car.

Miles stretched into years
on your dream highway.


Alan Britt

Posted over on Rogue Poetry Review