farm house in the distance with porch light on
On a long ride thru Outskirts, Oh
Hard-pack dust-singes tires
I drink hard-tack sun
eat gravel for breakfast
shit grins
yellow John Deeres go by
mini-dust storms rally
former lives fluff
up spit-fire rain nails dust-ups to
hard-tack ground.
At the end of the long gravel line
unhusked corn lay in hoary piles
klieg-like lanterns of longing
draw this moth:
“No Trespassing” signs
usher utter unattainability.
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