I’m the center
of my own hazard sign.
A middle-road-kinda-talker,
I walk the dotted line.
Headed away from the city
straight towards a breakdown,
not my own, mind you,
but fate’s flashing me down.
A morse code signal
into my outer face space,
I’ve left my heart behind
to explore this empty place.
The clouds divide, just in time,
a shot of moonlight’s glow.
They’ve sensed me coming for some time,
the gravel shuffles loud as snow.
They’re tired and flat,
and I’m the jack
to pump them up
and fix their cracks.
No sense of strangers
in destiny’s path,
the frequency’s clear,
I can’t turn back.
© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
I’ve never heard that song before, it’s very different. Lovely poem, and I like the photo, it’s kind of mysterious. ❤️
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Thanks, John. 😀I saw the Raconteurs live; it was a great show. Glad you liked the poem; photo was a contest. Reminds me, I wanted to locate the photographer.
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Awesome poem! I especially love the way you wind it together in the last stanza ☺️
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Thank you. 😀It does feel good when that happens. Endings and I often are at odds.
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I know what you mean! Sometimes I have the opposite problem too- I have a killer last line and the rest of the piece evades me 😅
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Nicely done, a triple play for me. 💙
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Thank you for the stellar comment. It’s been a while since I ran the bases. Sure feels good!
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