Car crash


Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash


there’s a car crash up ahead

i can’t see it, i can feel it – maybe this bend, maybe the next – perhaps i should go home

listen to yoga chants eat greens remember to breathe and try and recall a time where the roads were safe and a person simply continued to move forwards without fear and the checking of maps dials rear fore – all that anticipation… and for what? why journey at all if each step is predicted?

there’s a car crash up ahead and i’m in it

for one who needs to fix each moment in an aspic concentration carefully measured, this is abandonment, a failure of duty, a release of the wheel and a foot off the pedal

for one who needs to fly, it’s achievement

for one who flits twixt flight and fall, it’s inevitability

at last.

there’s a car crash up ahead and all the yoga chants in the world won’t cease the crush of iron will and failed peace and longing and hope and noise and quiet and lies and truth as they touch mingle melt and meld into a fireball of inevitability, a journey’s reckoning

there’s a car crash up ahead

and no time to get home.

Zand, 15th June 2018




Foot on the accelerator



A sweep of grey concrete opens before you

Cresting, dipping, turning in to the

hard line of the commute – coloured steel

hues melding into a slow line of duty,

the flow of morning conformity.

Commute, comply, coexist, why not?


You have your foot on the accelerator

as the distant light turns from green

to amber –


closer than you think?



– you have your foot on the accelerator

as the nearing light turns from green

to amber, you are the pilot on automatic

who for a second’s moment sees impulse

as choice whilst choice becomes impulse

though who knows the Truth of it anyway?

Decisions are made, one’s own life

obtusely held within one’s own capable hands,

and the foot pauses or presses,

movement halts or flies – almost on a whim

As if nothing drove it. As though it were random.

You continue, Commuter – a momentary

annoyance for those paused unwittingly

or a heartbeat’s fear for those in your way.

Remind them: memento mori. It’s good

for the soul to de-commute for a bit.

De-comply. De-conform.

Cease to coexist. Detach.

Be a Good Citizen of the Road

but don’t lack imagination –

when all’s said and done it’s what we have left to work with.


For now, you are the god of the road.

Decisions and choices are made by those who lead.

Conformity may be your creed but Impulse is your devil,

Choice remains your elusive Holy Ghost, and the

poet racks up another few lines no matter what.


Commuters reach their point, beyond warm concrete

which now rests a while, it doesn’t care either way.

The foot lifts from the accelerator.

The heart beats.

Zand, 8thJune 2018