The road hisses as I move its length.

Telephone poles like a Krazy Kat cartoon racing us to the black horizon.

The wires appearing as Salvador Dali elongated guitar strings.

And the New Mexico sky clouds.

Like blotted together ink paper.

A Rorshach test.

What'll I say it reminds me of?

As if I have to.

Long long strands of days.

You wish to get through it.

Believe

In some farfetched ideal of goodness, of

Isn't everything going to work out OK?

You've pressed your lips and eyes together.

Making Something out of it.

Or,

Keep running.

As if it's an Art.

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