Driving fast through
the back roads delta night,
patches of fog hug the road
wherever it dips, soul traps
for the unwary.

Most of the lights out
here are red, stacked one
above the other on radio towers,
quixotically blinking at anyone
or anything nearby.

Off in the distance the
bright klieg lights of a drilling
rig could easily pass for a rocket
upon its launch pad, cold night
stretching up above.

Beyond the range of the
headlights, a black hole draws
me ever forward, space and time
warping perceptions, fate calculated
by speed over gravity.

Sometimes the journey
there is like poking a singularity,
the event horizon a bright red sign,
a lapse in concentration, or minor
miscalculation, fatal in the end.