Whitewashed

clear road whitewashed with winter’s stains

fluorescent letters signal to drifting souls

motels stuck in 1968 take them in to sin

singing silent songs of yesterday’s pain

under warm cover of new part-time flesh

somewhere, asphalt cracks frozen sinkholes

to be patched, half-assed in vain attempts

tires roll on, tires roll on, tires roll on

to the next town, the next body, bed

flip book fantasies found fleeing stark realities

previously worn lives left in the motel mini-bar

unpaid and abandoned like last season’s style

in the distance, the sunset fools the driver

interminable time until tomorrow

~ E

12.14.16

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43 thoughts on “Whitewashed

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