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Sliproad by the interstate

written by: Gavin Haycock



I took a turn into foothills of granite
the desert gave itself a way to bow out
burnt air coalescing below
while crystals above form over centurion skylines

rear view mirror adjusting, capturing
fragmentary ripples of flaming magnesium
aquamarine, yellow-gold trails
falling into low-noon blood-line canyons

marooned, a state of being no less
as dust storms slow roll their way
across a map of shadowed destinations
ash felt premonitions, a head for other places

on this road, even air doesn’t rustle wind chimes
paint peels from highway motel snake skin grins
we should head west, you said, while passing a cherry cola
that’s where the sun has gone

Gavin Haycock

Gavin Haycock

Once a crime reporter, once a journalist and editor, then other things. Creatively, into poetry, crime fiction and short tales. A journey of many pages starts with words from one pen and all that ...
Gavin Haycock

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