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 
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