Driving the old Mercury;
eight cylinders of relentless motion,
with windows down to the tempest
I feel every familiar mile on this highway
Searching my memory for a clue;
anything to explain the chasm of your absence
But I know that sometimes meaning, for us,
was a language we just could not master
The chrome-steel beast, unencumbered by doubt,
seeks only the next mile on the dark highway,
while I can’t tell a tear from the rain
Comments
I don't know about genius T,
I don't know about genius T, but thank you, and glad you liked this one! I changed the title shortly after posting, so seems like a good move. Original title was "Chopped '49", but I felt that was a bit too gear-heady, and less connected to the feeling of this one.
Sorry to hear about the covid stuff in Tuscany - please be safe!
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I felt...
a deep, emotional connection with this one. I too, have owned those big, heavy, eight-cylinder cars and kind of miss them. The tears in the rain is the best line of the poem. Your title is great, and being kind of a gear-head, it drew me in. Nice work! ~ Geez.
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Always appreciate your visits
Always appreciate your visits Geez! See my comments to T about the title - glad I changed it.
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Hi Anthony, I'm not an expert
Hi Anthony, I'm not an expert on vintage cars, but I love to see them, mostly in movies. Your poem brings it all close and clear to me. I agree that not telling a tear from the rain is the best line.
The new title is excellent, the spacing is perfect IMO and the internal logic as well.
Enjoyed, Gracy
Hi Gracy! I'm no expert
Hi Gracy! I'm no expert either, but like you, I love to see them too. Thanks for the time, and sharing your thoughts on this piece - always much appreciated!
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