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john davies
notes from a small vicar
from a parish
in Liverpool, UK

    Monday, January 31, 2005
    The motorway spectres
     
    Pitching through air at eighty mph
    Little stars scatter on rain-specked windscreens
    As fields of phosphor rise beside the carriageway.
    We are consumed in chrome
    Each one alone
    Intent faces
    Illumined intermittently in headlight beams.
    We are ghosts on the highway.
    In limbo on the centre lane,
    Tricks of light in manic flight
    Escaping M1 hell
    For whom the M6 tolls;
    Each carried by four fast angels
    Spinning hubcaps through the muggy Midlands night

    [on driving back from St Albans with just The Gun Club for inspiration]