by August 25, 2019 0 comments

It’s on the
edge of the desert

an open door welcomes
the thirsty
and the curious

ashtrays full of
last night’s words
and crushed hearts
where leather jackets
and quarters keep
the juke box breathing

passing freight trains
push a melody
to someplace

where truckers kill time
until the coffee
turns cold

songs on the road
top down
next town signs
shot to death

where lizards and snakes
crawl the night dance

editors note:

Step inside. The desert comes, too. – mh clay

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