ROUTE 140 

12 POEMS, 3 QUOTES, 1 NOTE & A SONG 

And on the 140th day of 2026, the #vss365 word was #betrayal.

There are other words as well.

Will you take a ride with me on “Route 140”?

140.1

 

making the world

watch as you take 

sunlight and funnel it 

into your navel 

hoping shiny

pulchritudinous 

words will come 

out of your 

mouth 

somehow

someday 

playing Pulcinella

as usual

Maccus 

Buccus

Manducus

one is

coming to dinner 

tonight 

no one knows 

which

or if the menu 

will be 

word burgers 

again

▪️▪️▪️

140.2

Looking for 

Pierrette 

Finding a spider 

Under your bed 

Betrayal 

In the washing machine

Gone 

The way of all other socks

▪️▪️▪️ 

140.3

In case you're wondering 

This is how it will go down 

All empires 

Must die

&

Freedom takes

Too much 

Effort 

Time

Intent

Everyone is busy 

Pretending 

They're doing 

Something 

Important 

& meaningful 

Or just trying to 

Buy it 

In the future 

Robots will do it

For us

Then for them

I wonder 

How their wars

Will be

Not like a movie 

A different 

Post-blockbuster 

Will they have 

Historians

Perhaps 

Just archives 

Will we be

In them still 

People bet on

Fuchsia 

“Le Rouge et le Noir” 

Is all we ever get 

“How do you like them odds?”

▪️▪️▪️

140.4

That sound is not the alarm 

on your phone going off.

A NOLA jazz band 

is playing at funerals 

yet to come. 

Sugar at our fingertips 

is barely 200 years old

& it has already 

rotted 

every sweet

tooth.

▪️▪️▪️ 

140.5

inner light 

blinding bright 

dead sun

never ordered 

making betrayal 

look even starker

motel

bathroom 

mirror 

▪️▪️▪️

140.6

Sometimes Melpomene 

just wants someone 

to sit 

at a sad out-of-tune piano 

and sing old blues 

to her. 

▪️▪️▪️

140.7

Meanwhile 

in some uncool place 

people are dropping 

like flies 

which won't stop 

multiplying. 

▪️▪️▪️

140.8

the sun was dying 

on the porch 

felt somehow fitting 

he knocked on the door

just a soft rap really

wouldn't dare ring the bell

she opened the door 

said nothing 

let him in

as if she already knew

he'd be there 

as if he'd always 

been there

in the middle of the night 

he left the couch 

went into her bedroom

their bedroom 

she wasn't in her bed 

their bed

there is no bed

no room now

going back 

no betrayal

burning

tears 

falling 

go back to sleep 

dream again 

▪️▪️▪️

140.9

I've got black hearts 

& I'm not afraid 

to use them.

▪️▪️▪️

140.10 

every time I put pen to paper

(fingers to screen)

the feeling I’m betraying

all the voices still waiting 

every other story

burning in the back

screaming 

to be told

forces me to write

a little faster

▪️▪️▪️

140.11

the portal back in 

is so damn obvious

the fact that you 

can’t even see it 

speaks volumes

of your blindness

makes me close my eyes 

calmly 

sigh with relief

your betrayal

dodging bullets

small mercies still

to be thankful for

▪️▪️▪️

140.12

two broken souls

restlessly trying to rest

in each other’s words

betrayed by what time

cannot undo

▪️▪️▪️

140.13 

(three quotes, one note & a song)

"Writing poetry is a state of free float."
Margaret Atwood

I've been writing a lot of poetry for new stories this year. Often, characters’ voices and scenes come to me first as poems. No idea why. (Melpomene whispering in my ear, I guess.)

In a way, this has always been happening at the pre-writing stage – in my mind – I just didn't write it down (let alone post it), and now I do. 

Part of me still enjoys thinking it's Melpomene whispering in my ear, though.

Why am I doing this now, then? Especially the “posting” bit.

"The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself."
Margaret Atwood 

I spent last year (2025) writing fiction every week without sharing a single word of it. It was incredibly liberating. I suppose it changed me. Now, I don't give a proverbial "rodent’s backside" to what the "public" thinks about my writing – as long as my words are true, everything else doesn't really matter much.

Losing two people who were very close to me in the previous 13 months and the fact that someone I adore can’t remember who I am anymore might have played a part in my new-ish Noir "Memento mori" approach to writing – and to friendships (online and offline) as well. 

“All you have to do is write one true sentence.
Write the truest sentence that you know.”

Ernest Hemingway

Life IS too short – and, worse than that, our mind might fail us while we’re still breathing. So I am trying to “write a little faster” before the world (mine) ends and don’t really have much tolerance for anything but the truth – both in words and human relationships. 

Does that make me come across as too uncompromising sometimes, stringent even? I’m sure it does. But this is who I am – and Noir On The Vine is, after all, a journal of lyrical grit (it’s stated up there in the tagline), not Fuzzy Unicorn Central, so I suspect you didn’t come here looking for saccharine.

Having said that, the fact that you ARE here – the fact you’ve taken sand from your precious hourglass to spend time reading my words – makes me want to do this:

🖤 🖤 🖤

(Told you I wasn’t afraid to use them.)

Thank you for being here! I mean it.

Your Friend in Noir,

CE

▪️▪️▪️

Celeste - This Is Who I Am (Live From Union Chapel / 2021)