The back surface of roads

the lost brother of travel

the flats where crossroads

connect unevenly in chaos

a point of standing

stranded out of position


rest areas,

concrete tables

chained garbage cans

a sterile living room

absent of comfort.


cars park

lovers confess secrets

while drinking warm beer


there’s a casual theft of beliefs

and unsung anthems

voices of forgiveness

rise in vertical lines


the heart of the desert

is a cold hand.

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