PERISH BETWEEN THE MILO
Cracks in milo fields matched creases on feet.
Dried sharp dirt sliced souls of shoes and boots.
Wafting manure buried itself inside nostrils.
Every weekend, walked the ledge
of the Cumberland Valley,
millions of steps in circles
afraid to jump off the edge.
Committed strings of minor crimes,
picked locks of suburban houses
to escape the pouring boredom.
Aimlessly rode in a van down
identical rural main streets littered
by red and yellow gas stations.
Stained interiors with cigarettes,
cared so little we'd bury embers
into the seats, floor, and ceiling
turning fabric to molten plastic.
We were just 110 miles from DC,
124 from Philadelphia, 190 from Pittsburgh,
a few hours at most to streets with life.
Spent my words swearing to get to somewhere
like them whenever reality gave me permission.
During the moments of pause in the newest miles I travel,
when the light of selective memory has time to think
I still can't find the nostalgia or guilt
I was warned would follow
when I found a way out.
By Dan Elias Bliss
Biography:
Dan Elias Bliss is an American poet currently based in Canada while completing an MFA in writing at the University of Saskatchewan. Dan started writing poetry in kindergarten to deal with the stress of his father's deployment. Since then, Dan has never stopped writing his poems are inspired by travel.
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