You know people live there: but they're not visible
a bar sign blinks open
soiled lacy curtains droop
in a cafe' window &
melancholy burns up from the asphalt
smelling rank, like ignorance.
What is visible: just the stink of their lives, dead formulations
just the junk of their lives, acres & acres
of stuff & stuff & stuff lying in heaps on the brown ground
rusted cordage, severed machine parts
And yet daisies grow up through towers of scrapped tires
seed pods spool on a breeze of honeysuckle & float
above rusty dented fenders.
Is it all nature? the junk, funk, clunk
of shucked off & discarded stuff? is a
braided horse mane and a pretty girl the same
as an upturned rusty bucket lying in the weeds?
Hug the debris
hug all the hard places
hug the mountain road
speed the steep
slide & swerve.
Scud the gravel shoulder & with
a celebrated hoorah, "pull" a
Thelma & Louise.
Leap to the other side
cross over & join the heaps of old iron, glass & paper below
be disposed of & cast away.
Abandon the body without ceremony
like refuse among wildflowers.