Saturday, September 3, 2011

So long, Nevada

There are endless fields

that seemingly span


covered in a blanket of gold,

Pastures patched

around in rows spread


beside the road,

Great hills in the distance

are the breasts of California,

pouting toward the skies,

their brassiere tits perked poutward,

Down this ribbon,

vacant houses, wells,

powerlines bare

as the oil swells drawing

out black honey,

Motorcyclists roar by-

some spooned like lovers,

this kid tries to grab a bike

in the middle of the highway

an invitation to die,

Crosses in a single row

form one great line,

a single thread connecting each,

The moon of the afternoon

is as big as Texas,

that silver dollar shining

over Nevada mountains,

People have spat out undesirables,

leather seating


U.S. Maps,

all to get to California.

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