I run red lights without regret.
The road: a winding, dark roulette
And night sky falls on upraised arms.
Here I am, remotest stars,
And ends of earth is where you are.
I'm smothered in ten thousand charms.
The rushing wind hides warning; I
Will risk a glance and battle cry.
The road ends suddenly. Disarmed.
postscript
For . Brand new forms this year! I'm excited, and you should participate too. This is a Nove Otto--a modern form with nine lines of 8 syllables.