trapped

in a single frame

caught in the fire

of long exposure

she drew lines on a map

and called them the hours

my brain lives in a screen

neon digits glow cold

poking threadbare cloth

my night

is their day

or in between

their night is past

or just begun

my heart is from wisconsin

name of mother

and unborn daughter

both dancing ghosts

on my mildewed lips

the road ahead

is full of traffic

but only on this side

a record spins

the outer band

slower than the inner

and if i run fast enough

in one direction

all will stand still