Tax Form

ND-1, the tax form of state highways

since the cattails are as high as

cornstalks on August the Deuce and

they hide the literal meanings of

thousands of words written before

drowning pools all around correction

lines, which sound like the plot of

the newest video game crack addiction

call it Bob & Weave at Highway Speeds,

sixty-five miles an hour held constant

like the speed of light in Einstein's

contribution to scientific knowledge

you have to mind the minefield of

putrid, pus-filled prairie potholes

because once the vehicle crashes into

one, the one hit by the Ides of March

becomes your funeral dirge

and yet we survived it,

survived the trip to her hometown,

the tax code,

the highway itself,

the potholes,

the bee s**t and carcasses

that mar the line of sight,

the blurry vision,

the sleep deprivation,

and the screaming toddler

with the malevolent maw

a mile wide

sometimes traveling trough a rural desert

to the home oasis is a necessary bit of

existentialism we all must grind through

because on the other side of it all,

some glasses of ice water would not

taste as cold, as wet or as sweet

Reviews

[Nusquam Esse]

Such a strange comparison, I certainly did not expect it from a poem called "Tax Forms"; I think that should show that this does indeed have a creative edge to it. I particularly enjoyed the fourth stanza, although I did also enjoy the ideas which resonated from the first and final stanzas.

[Kenneth The Poet]

thank you, nusquam!

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

You d have a style all your own, keep it… the poem was certainly not what I expected from the title, I like that… life does seem to take and take from us, but what it gives in return is a strengthening of the soul with every loss we endure.

[Kenneth The Poet]

thank you, dale!

[John Anderson]

Nice work. Enjoyed it much. Very original!

[Kenneth The Poet]

thank you, john!