The Tar Road

a solid dream of
waste paper
on dead cigarettes
across the tar road

stare at her
in the blue vein light
a truck-stop toilet

weight

tattoo

a spill
of hair
a nest
and she is a  

black and burnt house
that

hides
a worn disc
marked Marvin
singing

whats going on


she somehow owns

scars I cannot map in words
or junk lines

*

Tomorrow night
she will let me in
and the day after
(so the cycle goes,)
she will rue it

there are pungent smells
on the road
and wastes

in the twilight
I will pretend I could

write poetry
with cheap pencil

be a man
the dark house of a girl
I love

could be
fluttered by

through pop-Frisco
beat
books

and sideways looks

cyclones
of a youth of tears

*

she will die
upon the tar road

I will add her -
a single chapter

of light/darkness

further along
this desolate
lost/soaked path

just
before the final rot.