Lakes and Highways
Three puffs of a cigarette make me feel like I am
part of the traffic down there. Below, a constant
creeping, ants marching –
one by one
then two by two.
Benches and grasses where I lost you, then
found you again, and there
the intersection where I ran and felt like we could
never be friends.
The sun sets in the west but it rises with the least
amount of notice; the audacity
Threats for me to wake up.
Remembering what it felt like to dream.
I haven’t had a coffee today, or even a tea
lying here in my
Living in my unsleep, undreaming
two sugars does not make it
sweeter to taste, nor smoother to
Lake Ontario might actually be
hollow – a cup
for me to sip on, empty
a blanket with a hole
a life to live where I am me and
you are you.
Lakes and Highways by Katerina Sevelka is a Blasted Tree original poem.
Edition of 100 longsheets published in Canada for the inaugural Canzine Calgary
Cover Image from The Art Journal The Industry of All Nations Illustrated Catalogue (London, England: Bradbury and Evans, 1851)