The latest in our series of works by members of Hackers, PGS' creative writing community:
Streets and stopped at traffic and stopped by traffic lights,
the sodium orange at the wrong time of day and the godforsaken hour of every night.
Then nothing and everything for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and
how could anyone ever know it all and every road and every door on it and where it lead
and who went there and never returned and if they did, how and why it could ever matter at all.
And outside in the green that’s never green but murk it’s no better
with the miles that go unmeasured
and no way to tell when it ends but for the grey gangly horizon.
The marled bitter poet who didn’t want the world to know say it’s the same at the ocean’s edge
where the people crowd to gaze out and in
And that you try to get to it in summer but there’s nothing there to see when you look in the wrong way
And when you gaze right at it, you only see shells.