When love left so did I. To West beneath an iron white sky. To West and her scorched horizon. Past solitary skeleton houses that appear out of nowhere. Past gas stations like roadside postage stamps stuck in a corner somewhere. Through skin and bone towns that flinch as my tires slaughter their weary streets sending plumes of dust rising like disillusionment behind me. Gone. Like an outlaw. Past black crows settling on telephone wire. Past emaciated Bloody River Basin. Honeycombed between the vinyl seat and the dashboard, radio station waxes my soul. Homesickness is only a state of mind. Galvanized sun grabs stubbornly to a pinpoint fracture in the windshield, dispersing tangerine light across the cab like blind faith. © Lisa Zaran
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