turn off here,
the engine
may be on fire,
or there

may be an
electrical storm,
the sky ripped thru
with jagged fire

or maybe just a
beat up old field,
and we can build
a lean-to out of old
poems, radio
waves and opiates

I mean, the clock's
busted, so maybe we've
been on this road all day.
my eyes are starting
to reflect the pavement
in that way they do
before momentum
simply takes over