December 22

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poetry

There is a stretch of road
that often for a moment

seems incongruent
utterly unfamiliar

my car passing through
some existential plane—

where am I?
have I gone the wrong way?

the lanes go on eternally
in the dark arcade

the trees the same soft
suggestions by the roadside

only the exit signs
hard proof of place

glowing in the headlights
delimiting space

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