another image in a rear-view dusk

So, we’re crusin- Wyatt Fonda, Billy Hopper
(on those famous panhead choppers,)  
and me, out of place, on my Triumph:
a 21st century, Brit impersonation of Billy’s own machine.
I’m in a mutated late sixties biker film scenario:
my back against a desert highway sunset:
riding east.
The road noise replaced by the sound of
Paul Brady and the Forest Rangers doin’
Gimme Shelter.  
The rear-view: mirror framed display of Utah:
Monument Valley, drenched in reds and oranges
(the place of Hollywood imaginary westerns).
Sound over replaced:
Check my Brain.  
Alice assures me: California ‘s alright.  
The road shapeshifts.  
Signs change.

Wyatt lost face: another image in a rear-view dusk.
Billy faded to ghost: smilin’ like a dope dealing Cheshire cat,  
icon of the Hollywood rebel.

I’m Sunday alone on a bible belt interstate, heading south
looking right
at the sunset of my adolescence’s demise.

Upload completed.  Mortality no longer an issue,  
everything that was
what I am: gone to archive-
and it’s alright that
you never
even
knew
my
name...