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Long road, like a grey river driven over your shoulder as the engine hums
and forked tongue of the snake singing satin scales on my eardrum,
and the albatross strap across my neck becks at my neon oyster
eyes as I cough up a mouthful of moths sailing through the dark like a poison dart.

[Eyes on the road X3]

Pull over to the shoulder, with the slow motion motels full of old rodeo clowns,
drown themselves in gas station garage barrages and menthol men jump rope with jumper cables,
while the radio blows hot air-guitars across the dark starless night.

[Eyes on the road X3]

The finish line is drawn across the dawn, and into the night skies,
sealing, stripping with dreams of a bleached cotton candy head on a billow wilting in the still life,
while I write my will where the buzzards squeal, on a highway lined with the innards of outlaws long, long gone.

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