On this road
across the great
wide open
days forget
to breathe time
sun yawns
stretches her legs
lays along
the horizon
before lost cities
frame naked dreams

but there is no talk
of sex or love or anything
that keeps me from looking
in the rearview mirror
from New Hampshire
to Los Angeles

there is no talk
in Atlantic City
because I can only
smell the perfume
off the palm of your hand
covering my mouth
when I called to buy
your bus ticket

there is no talk
about the rain
in Arizona
as the exit
for the Grand Canyon
waves goodbye
in one small pass

there is no talk
in Los Angeles
for our last
night together
bores walls
so desperately seeking
a creeping hand

on my last leg
walking up the coast
thru the empty fields of
nameless streets
one horse towns
to the concrete jungle
and back again
there are no words
forthe beauty in all this.