I haven't had a dream in a long time.
Sleep only comes in broken pieces,
frozen slick roads with a subtext of
sin.
Something always slipping, something
smashing.
Sometimes you have to take the bottle
in both hands and point the headlights
towards the nearest catastrophe. if
there
is any luck left I'll blind-side a
guardrail
and explode into a fireball near any of
your more curvaceous roadside
attractions
.
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