by L.M. Browning, except from Drive Through the Night
Ride this life hard
Wrap your legs tight
—thighs around her rib cage, pounding.
Take hold in the rush
—fingers tangled in her mane, entwined.
Don’t look back,
there is nothing for you there.
Recent Poetry Posts
8,947 miles later, I know now why you refuse the say the names of those dead-to-you-yet-still-breathing—afraid as you are of the monsters are still under the bed—yet in the silence, you give them immortality…
we might outrun the sun
and not see the sight awaiting
in the bare daylight
I hear the voice of god in the hum of the neon sign at the rest stop, where the caravan of displaced desperadoes and expats post-up for the bottomless cup of coffee….