"Drive West, radiance at your back," the sun told
arrogant landscape in three dimensions,
lumiscene color, effervescent mud
particle by particle bonding
flint, slate, shale, fossilized litter, breakfast
a dim mortality plate rimmed blue.
Hew the yellow line, parallel twilight,
fade between ultraviolet, infrared.
Asphalt cannot explain bones, how blood runs
within a calcium fence, broken
order, eclipse racing meridian.
San Francisco writer and artist
T. L. Alexandria Volk was raised on a ranch in North Dakota. She has
held numerous jobs, including tennis racquet stringer, videographer,
genetics lab instructor, and cow hand; and she has survived 3½ independent
film sets as costumer, make-up person, and art director. She holds
Bachelor degrees in Biology and Art from the University of Dallas,
and she is an MA and MFA candidate in the Poetics Program at New College,
where she teaches English composition and letterpress. Recent poetry
appears in Prosodia and Debt.