letters from my road trip

Weeping T———,

There is an entire lot of them. Erstwhile shiny cars, and formerly functional too. Now cinderblocked, rustpocked. And attended by half a dozen llamas blinking stupidly. If rustic poverty is scenic, then yes, it’s scenic.

In a state of arrested decay,
M———



Penitent T———,

When carbonates precipitate out of solution, they can form petrified springs. Perhaps mineralized coils. In the briny lake you’ll float high enough to read my résumé. This is Atlantis in dry dock.

Wishing you’d told me that before we got off the boat,
M———



Stenciled T———,

It happens when the outside cools but the inside still flows hotly. It could turn out ropy or hard on the feet. We can climb the cinder cone; it has more integrity than snow.

Counting the lava flows,
M———



Umbilical T———,

Animals are dichotomized into the ones you can shoot and the ones you can sell. That could be a marmot. The rivers are all running abnormally high, and the moribund horse festoons the town with its grim iconography.

Swatting salmon,
M———



Unshowered T———,

Step into the mirrored machine: a baffle of neon and whistles. Just touch me if you want to double down. The curtains are rotting, but the arches are making progress. You could either calculate or inquire into all the outcomes and elevations.

Crossing the Great Divide,
M———



Fringed T———,

In grizzly country your car is the cage. The glacier’s apotheosis was sadly apocryphal. Cottony blooms hung heavy with rain. An atheist can witness the earth breathe and still be assured it’s purely geologic.

With yesterday’s panties in today’s pocket,
M———



Camouflaged T———,

Roadside turquoise is scarce on a Sunday. The fossil beds are always inaccessible among the brambles and the insects. Intersecting the highway hypotenuse are the wheel ruts of the Oregon Trail. How to dismantle a rattler?

Comparing the swelling to fruit,
M———



Border Town T———,

There’s a dust devil at this intersection. the railroad ties are stacked as high as the hawk’s nest. Bullet holes in the road signs flout gun laws. Right now I want us to be able to walk on snowbanks without falling through.

Driving through Death Valley with the heat on,
M———