Hell in the hinterlands.
Spent
shells falling
from
an empty hand.
Heat
seams rising
from
a worn Pontiac.
It’s
mirrors only good
for
looking back.
It’s
out there
where
the gold’s revealed,
right
out there
through
beaded windshield
where
tombs lay whisper
to secrets unsealed
No
one gaining
on you out here
But
you fall back
...just
the same
‘Til
there’s no one
left
behind you
and no one else
to blame
Yet you don’t
seem
to mind
sun
so course
bakes your
brain
while survival
kills
the time
and boredom
fills the frame
Drove
so hard
He shattered
When
it finally
walled and paid
now the
Pontiac
Just
cooks there
until it rusts
and dusts
away.
and dusts
away.
