Radio USA.
Gorgeous cliffs and peaceful bovine of no hope news California. All despair and sunshine, talk and talk with no answers except hope harder goes spitting and hissing into Nevada swingin' pop and silence, a torrential downfall of rain through the night.
Upright, fists clenched and next-day backache hydroplaning brake light eighty till drifting to bed under blinking casino lights.
Wendover also had a prophecy, only he can judge and deliver. Praise the lord where did women's rights go through Gods country? Tucked rightly tightly behind the hoodoos marked reds and golds, sandy and mountainous.
Talk News of Wyoming is Colorado Talk news. Raid in Rifle. Marijuana and Mud season in Steamboat Springs. Through the knee high, aspens glowing marigold on the pale blue Rockies. Intimate with sweet lace clouds and the pitterpatter of drizzle and bugs on the windshield, oh Nebraska, how long do you drag on?
State trooper conversations in Illinois, what do you have? Coke for a friend? Crystal meth? Sit in the front seat here, beard. We're gonna search the car, son. Free to go Ohio, hello goodbye rock city. Cubbies versus Indians sports talk and distortion guitar. Pre chorus, chorus, covered bridge all the way to bright electric fire foliage, chirping childish candidates and endless election coverage. A back seat sleep and six more gray sky morning hours to Boston, rest-stop Remembering a single southwest shooting star, through parted silver clouds, here, then gone.
About the Creator
Cam Salvatore
Hello, and welcome. I am new here, and will try to have a selection of work up shortly. I have poetry and excerpts from fiction that I am looking forward to sharing with you, along with my own photography to accompany it.
Keep reading
More stories from Cam Salvatore and writers in Poets and other communities.
Sunshowers
When your mother was young she loved the snow. Grasping at every perfect diamond white flurry, appalled at their disappearance in her palm. Later she showed me a perfect flake, resting on her hand, resisting her warmth long enough for her to brush it to the ground. “It’s saved.” she said. I’d seen her more satisfied but not often. That was around the time she left, and I always thought she believed I was akin to that little crystal of water and sky, discarded for the safety of anything else but her. I miss her terribly, but she made you and saved me, so there was nothing more I could possibly ask of her.
By Cam Salvatore3 years ago in Poets
Smart phones, Humans and Aliens.
WARNING. I will be tapping into one of your favorite creative tensions: The absurdity of humans worshipping their glowing rectangles as if they were tiny oracles. There’s something deliciously poetic about that contradiction, and it lends itself beautifully to an instructive proviso.
By Novel Allen6 days ago in Poets
Autonomy Is The Real Privilege
Good morning, freedom-seekers! Today we’re gonna be looking at autonomy. A strange word, I know; one many would probably look at blankly and run away from on sight. We’re gonna figure out what it actually means, consider how it’s achieved, and decipher just how deeply most of us are tangled up in dependence without realising it.
By That ‘Freedom’ Guy3 days ago in Humans
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