Damp Roads and Vinyl Bygones – Devon Brock

Nothing more than wiper slap –

smear light on a dirty windshield,

starbusting streetlamps through

pitted glass sliding

greasy on the bridge:


Every billboard passed,

every sign, every whine,

every slumped leaning

off ramp neighborhood,

a blurred jagged vision

of what it is, what it was,

what it might be,



Though some hazy refracted,

gray on gray beam,

from out there, back there,

through the pupil to the retina,

focused occipital,

turned again into a shape

that wasn’t hers to begin with.


But there she is,

behind a salt-crust window,

half-eaten by the blinding slats,

a perfect, distorted slouch

in a booth of vinyl bygones

off exit eighty nine,

with a bucket of fries

on her hands –

and I spit by

on a wet highway

to who the hell knows where.

All art is a conjuring – a twisting of metals, mist and things uncertain. From the seen and tasted comes a thought run down through nerve and blood to the hands. And what is displayed, dispersed, perhaps as inconsequential as a single fallen leaf, a split cicada husk or a thin layer of sloughed off skin on a tabletop may land upon an eye and find communion. Through my many and somewhat failed striving, it has come down to this: “Make one person laugh, make one person cry.” In that, the work is done.

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Image by MikesPhotos from Pixabay

One thought on “Damp Roads and Vinyl Bygones – Devon Brock

  1. Pingback: Sunday Best: time will tell – FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

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