Steer Through Silence Dislocated

I've had this one line in my head for decades now. It occurred to me whilst driving home one night at some ungodly hour, on the motorway. The night sky, stars obscured by light pollution and a rising mist, seemed unreal. The only thing holding it up was the streetlights, like staples in a giant suffocating cloth.

Streetlights staple the night to the sky, I thought. And I have wondered ever since where that would go.

Well now it has a home, in a pantoum.

A pantoum is an ancient Malaysian verse game of echoes. Lines loop forward, the 2nd and 4th lines of one stanza return as the 1st and 3rd of the next. At the end, the opening line comes back as the closer, its old partner sliding into second place. The poem turns in circles, mesmerising, inevitable.

The form was perfect for the sense of dislocation and discomfort I wanted to evoke. I’m really proud of it.

Steer Through Silence Dislocated

Streetlights staple the night to the sky,
I drive alone through ghost-lit miles.
The world feels thin, a painted lie;
I become indifferent, exiled.

I drive alone through ghost-lit miles,
chasing shadows that fade and fall.
I become indifferent, exiled.
Hollow the night. Endless the sprawl

Chasing shadows that fade and fall
rubber on catseyes drums the beat,
Hollow-the-night. Endless-the-sprawl.
Nothing is fixed, all incomplete.

Rubber on catseyes drums the beat,
a-world-so-worn-so-thin-so-cold.
Nothing is fixed, all incomplete,
a washed-out scene, its colours old.

A-world-so-worn-so-thin-so-cold.
The stars seem brittle, cheap intrusions.
A washed-out scene, its colours old,
just shadows fastening illusions.

The stars seem brittle, cheap intrusions,
the world feels thin, a painted lie.
Just shadows fastening illusions.
Streetlights staple the night to the sky.