Monday, July 4, 2011

My Face Vanishes from the Rear View Mirror

My Face Vanishes from the Rear View Mirror

Road music from the cratered moon
vibrates a bullet-pocked road sign.
A bristly hot wind rises.
Half the light bulbs
in the last motel were dead.

The breakfast waitress said,
It's paltry yield these days.
She gently set down
my bacon and fried eggs,
God is wildest at twilight,
having lost all hope
after a day's bitter work.
She was  go-to-hell-sure
the cafe was out of blueberry pie.

I am driving... days past
my best heart-velocity...
in confirmation of sharing
a leftover, overnight-
refrigerated T-bone
with a Bismarck,
North Dakota 
parking lot mutt...
driving through ghosts
of long-shipped cattle.

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