he sleeps in his car because getting there was exhausting
and the highway had a soft lane parallel to the speed cage snake
that wandered off into the desert where it lost the horizon
to a silhouette of cactus praying to the Sun.
as it sat.

tumbleweed grit in the yellow canvas of dawn
like an alarm clock of spikes and low dunes.
he fidgets for the wheel and the keys the whole shebang.
with crystal cotton in his eyes and no coffee to believe in.
and adjusting, he weathers the turmoil of rude awakenings
in the radio is broken world
of a long way home.