Steve Malmude, p.1



NOMAD’S LANE

I am
stuck
in a traffic
jam

a cloud
shadow
courses
across

I cop
at a restop
I am
dream

free
and the road
leaps out
to me

o
paired dots
of raw
lights

and
unknown
crosswind
options

where
a parked
car
rocked

a fog
cushion
nudges
a prison

people
go
through
a duffle

they
age and move
out of
the way

the
ashes
of high
officials’

dunes’
forms
evolve
and move.