Night Rider  

I was riding around a pan- handle flat landscape
and as far as I could see it had millions of coffins, some expensive
others looked home-made.

The sun was forever going down but threw rays on white clouds
making them pink as a ballet dress on a girl painted by Edgar Degas
the ground was covered with sheets of black plastic which undulated
slightly in the mild zephyr.

The horse’s hoofs made holes in the plastic and up sprung bushes
that for long had been living in darkness; they were pale now but
would soon be greening by the setting sun.

I came to a small town where houses had false facades to make
them look imposing walked into a bar were Hollywood actors
was shooting each other take after take.

I found a bath-house after stabling my horse and in the tub
dreamt of crisscrossing this landscape of death till it became
green again hiding the coffins, perhaps then the night would
be full of stars and the sun that arose from the east