snow plow plantation

with ware of asphalt and backroad dust
my boots speak volumes of the search
slept in box cars and rail yards
beside rivers and the kindness of strangers

faces painted thick with road lust and sun stroke
mom and pop video store/gas station
in a town with three houses and one street light

there was nothing under all those rocks we over turned
no a glimmer of freedom in the oil slicked highways
lost with an atlas that was all destination and no journey

plastic palm trees and pink flamingos decorating the only vestiges of a forgotten generation
the malt shops and drive-ins abandoned by time
all the juke boxes link to itunes and the saw dust floors have been tiled over
a fist fight is a felony and a drag race is is close behind

protests and propaganda lead based toys new influenzas
a war in every living room for thirty some odd years and im tired of peeking out toward the horizon and burning my eyes