Glancing at a devil,
hidden in his words,
jutting from a smile.
Propelled flames hang in eye,
holding his fatal prints
— deaf inside, black flashes loudly.
Standing drugged
and dizzy,
far off the highway.
In backwater forests,
jolted cold by taillights,
yelling to his senses.
Piercing a path
on a thin gravel road,
through rough branches,
remembering.
A shadow
he clutches in hand,
outran by guesses.
Dialing police,
hearing Fire Road’s location degrees.
Heading back in his truck,
breathless.
Reversing,
trees scrape past
metal and windows.
Gripping the door handle,
on the edge of my seat,
speeding by outer traffic.
Blood courses quicker,
seeing city lamps,
listening to his
dead silence.
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