by KEN FARRELL
All spirit is not benevolent;
one shook the Mercury so violently
as we drove the twining road to White Sands
mirrors cracked and chrome hubcaps spun off.
The car shed parts until, atremble,
I was forced to crawl out a window
(the door-handle twisted
out of place) to wander the road alone
to where the dunes began.
I sink to the top and linger
for the vagabond moon.
I face east: She sneaks over the San Andres,
veiled in wispy clouds.
I scoop a handful of sand to take away
and convince me I was ever here.
Others walk the dune-crests
during this winter solstice
and I think I should be
the one, the first— for once
I deserve to be
special—an egotism which disturbs
me in ways I can’t describe.
Now unsettled, I’m more selfish still.
Sometimes, solitude is pure; Sometimes
I crave it. I want to feel
clean to match the luminous white—
not of the moon—of the sand.
In the dusky moonrise
I hope for a cloud rift,
a clearer view. Back down the road
my wife waits—now: To return?
And how to make repair?
About the Author
Ken's work is forthcoming/published in journals such as Sport Literate, The Piltdown Review, The Offbeat (poetry prize, selected by Heid E. Erdrich), Pilgrimage, and Writer's Bloc, among others. Ken holds an MFA from Texas State University, an MA from Salisbury University, has worked as an adjunct, server, cage fighter, and pizzaiolo, and for most of ten years, in a warehouse. Responding to his daughter’s challenge, who participated in NaNoWriMo, Ken recently began his first novel.
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