From the Fishouse

Dear girl, join the campaign
to reconsider Nevada,

its traffickers and ghost ships.
My Westward Ho, my Hwy. 50 baby.

On the loneliest road in America
in the dark

the mere flash of a lit cigarette
informs the enemy.

O the lost art of the CB.
Heart-breaker breaker one nine.

We sped through meth lab fires,
starfires of Babylon, past the plants

of jellybeans. Soot and orange dolor
in the burning desert.

O small colors
& taste of larger tangibilities.