Car after car after car,
passes by us,
speeding by under attractive streetlights.
Headlights cover the road,
miniature suns racing towards anything,
to neon strips clubs,
to droll bars,
and sleazy restaurants.
They are Helios chariots of light,
flying onward towards no sun,
nor to a moon,
but to maybe a dull meeting,
or crossing illegal border lines.
neon eyeballs of the road,
full of halogens and false man brightness,
guiding along the paved holy highway,
blinding other drivers,
and pervading the nighttime black,
of streets that never end.
Comments about this poem (Headlights by Nicholas Peter )
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