Street signs read
"turn back now",
spread out in your flatbed,
still alive somehow;
tribulations past
sun set on new days,
catching the draft,
thin papers & ash trays.
Strong winds carry
us, rolling past towers,
redwoods, mahogany,
light up after hours;
near the end of the road
and with no sign of slowing,
passions plateaued
but devotions still growing.