How Can I Get to Where You Are?

It was late.
 It was night.
I glided on a car made of skateboard wheels and twine.
 Street lights twinkle like faraway stars,
But the road below me shone black as an underground pool.
Passing lights overwhelmed my sight
and the black of the road left me blind.
 I reached out for the painted lines that curved and swayed the road.
I could only trust my fingertips to steady me on this sooty path.
Gravity pulled me toward my destination.

Home.

Home.

My descent grew steeper.
I called for you, fear pitching my voice higher.

Hear me.
Help me.
Stop me.

My eyes are plucked out.
The surface is too slick.
Night's maw is open.
I fall and she smacks her lips.

She Shall Outdistance Calamity Anywhere She Goes

When she comes back--
    into the world, red and slick, re-
    incarnated she will not wait--

She will squall without the spank--
    Warrior cry,  Pen poised--
     to mar the blank slate--

New life, new woman--
    New dress? Perhaps--
    Yes, to be sure.

Trouble will come to call.
     She will have her track shoes on
     before the knocker can sound.

Bus, train, car or fleetest foot--
    Speed boat,  aero plane--
   Leaving Trouble in the dust.
----
I chose the third choice, Kenia's Wednesday challenge, for my inspiration.
I had written off Marianne Moore a long time ago (the HYPHENS!!!) and it was nice to revisit her work. She was a lot better the second time around. I could even see a similarity of style between us.

I took my title from her poem "Diligence Is to Magic as Progress Is to Flight."
I also chose to follow her style and see if I could make those confusticated hyphens work for me.
Her original poem : here

The Head is a Pitcher, The Nose Its Spout

 I was weeping in my closet.
(Do you weep inside yours?)
I cracked the spine and wrote
(It was a dark and stormy face)
A list of the things I knew for certain
(choosing buoyancy over drowning)
 Skills were noted, faiths testified
(And I wrote I look good in black)
I closed the book with determined snap
(then I put away pairs of shoes)
 I filled three pages with things I knew
(I could've eaten my feelings instead)
 Emptied my heart, cleared my head
(cramped hand and a pain in the neck).

Kristine

Her curls blend with the swirls of the sea
Eddies swish 'round the pedestal
The tides call her home
But down flutters o'er her heart
As her fingers stretch to feel
The tickling of the breeze
Feathers sprout, wings unfurl, she rises
She rises with a cry, bright thing.
A sail from a distant vessel waves her farewell.

Two Sisters

Two sisters
Daily chores
Work to do

A small request
A tiny sip
Of water from the spring

Younger girl
Yes, of course
Diamonds from her lips

Older child, refused
Had only vipers
She could spit

In the looking glass
Haunted by the tale
Which sister do I see?

----
The Fairies by Charles Perrault http:/www.pitt.edu/~dash/perrault05.html
is great tale that rewards compassion. This is my wish for myself. This link is a short retell if and worth the visit.
The moral is retold in two different versions by author Robert D San Souci in The Talking Eggs

and
The Well at the End of the World. 

Haunted (When the Minutes Drag)

I still miss you.
Holding your hand on the damp subway platform
And hearing the clack of your heels.
Never loved a woman that way before.
Never felt so overprotective, stupid, naïve
Before I spied you, post- interview, face a mess.
I can smell the piss and hear the hiss
Of the air brakes.
I turn without looking and leave.
I leave for what I know,
Where I can see the ground
Before my foot can land.
----
My first fiction piece is the subject of this poem, inspired by the title of Love and Rockets' "Haunted (When the Minutes Drag)."

Primitive

Primitive

Away from the house
Under the clothes line
Down the short ridge
And over the lawn
Go through the plum trees
That sprout round the ditch
Boldly step into your own primitive country
There are hills, but you can't see them
Grass and growth so tall, you can hardly see
Yourself
You can wear many hats,
Any hat, here
There is the skunk tree
And the bush that can be hidden under.
The skunk tree has a mysterious x
Carved right there on the trunk
What does it mean, but that your hat today
Belongs to a buccaneer?
When you come back the way you came
You can stop in the valley
Build a nest for me and you.
We will be birds, feathered and safe.

--------
My great-grandmother's home had a large back yard but after the back border of tangled plum trees, in the center of the block, there was a wilderness of imagination. I tried to put my feelings about this overgrown and protected place in this poem.