Drifting under melon sky
Sifting through formaldehyde,
I drive for miles on cracked asphalt
That shakes the back-lit display.
The numbers dance in a light parade
And silhouette the needle's sway
As the day slipped down on every side
And dried off-yellow on the horizon.
Their eyes glaze over, hiding names
To show that which could not be tamed:
The summer slip that drips unpaced
From flooding warmth in empty space.
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