autumn colors between lines
as great oaken boughs rustle in wayward wind.
Jesus is giving that look,
all that “not this again”.
Moses keeps on driving,
those mile marker chugs of wear old roads,
tires grinding along asphalt,
and damn can Dodge do the runnin’ right.
Don’t, don’t look at the fading light.
It’s not so bad if you don’t look,
you don’t have to remember.
How late it is.
“There are no maps here, kid.
There are no directions.
There is only the run,
‘n the run is only so long.”
boughs in wayward wind.
Moses is drunk again.
Jesus doesn’t mind
‘n Christ, I don’t mind either.
