i thought of you
in white windswept skies
filled with dust
and the virulent smell
of gasoline.
This place is like another passing day
a comma
in a newspaper
read on an odd Wednesday
not the myth of song
that we both used to sing
just another crack
on the asphalt pavement
that leads both ways
away from a town where no one wants to stop.
I drove in search
of mermaids
and 57 Chevy's
and songs with names
i can no longer remember;
one big hole in the ground
after another
is no closer to profoundness
than the shape of your lips
when you bite them
and hold back a river
as we cross state lines
leaving behind
the denouement
somewhere
on the pavement.