Let's. Rolled together across interchanges. This will be unknown again.
10:23 on Saturday night. You go home. Me too. I'll take you yes up 59 down 45 down 225. And suddenly through your brakeless years. Your heart had no brakes. Your car neither. All those years in Arizona. Lulled into dust and stone sleep. Arriving to California coast. Startled by leaves and trees. A yearning for regreening. You awoke on the coast. You slept through the night. Earth makes different arenas for. Let's keep going to Pacific rest.

These were the tears neither of us shed. These were the lights we passed.

Thankfully lacking in explosions. Outside or inside. Smell of gasoline and no finery. Exit at the cloudmaker. You said when you were small you called it the cloudmaker. Refinery tower spouts still make clouds. You say you have stories to tell that would stop trains. Yes. Bring plants out of the earth. Rain collects in ditches and gutters. This rain will wash away shame. Past.

Imagine. Your stories will make the clouds made by factories cry.


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