winter has come early to the high desert
as I ride a 1948 Black Shadow through mesa country.
a dusting of fresh snow has settled
on this two lane highway to anywhere
a pale sun is propped up by honeycombs of expiring crystal
along the edge of the road dried seeds and animal bones
tumble into one another
in a mutually gratifying cycle older than man himself.
all around me the sky is filled with red iron clouds,
they are snagged on saguaro cactus,
their pastel oxide bleeds into the atmosphere
as they tug free and continue drifting
across the glassy lens of the earth.
out in space the stars move into formation
the outline of my spirit animal guiding me through my falls.
but this is the place, out here on the open road,
this is where you find your Juliette Lewis,
your long legged carnival gypsy with the turquoise bandana.
where your job, your asshole boss, and your screaming kids
and my god, all those bills, all quietly fade into the crisp desert air.
the sun has dropped behind the mountains
a housewife is standing on the porch.
he was a horrible father, she mutters to the kids,
re-ties her housecoat and shuffles them back inside.
the road makes everything numb, it makes other pain bearable.
but soon deep cold sets in, so I pull over and make a fire,
the juniper smoke filling my senses, swirling together
I lean back against a boulder,
wrapped in a Plains Indian blanket from Crazy Crow Traders
and stare deep into the embers for some sort of sign,
a bottle of whisky slowly sliding from my hand.
I don’t know how much time has passed
but I wake up cold, in the pale light of dawn.
I look over and see doll parts strewn across the road,
a turquoise bandana hangs from the handlebars of my motorcycle.
a cold wind pours in from the east
quickly blowing away the ashes
and the gravel eyed savages which follow me in my dreams
I shake myself awake and stumble to my feet
pulling my jacket tightly around my chest.
lifting a leg over my bike,
I give it a good kick as it roars to life,
and like the high plains drifter that I am, I just keep riding.
purple gas streams from my tailpipe up into the eternal.
esoteric thoughts whistle through my mind
as I ride down a road through space and time
I look in my mirror
and see the fire burning behind me
and hope to god those devils will never find me