You Rook Me All Night Long

 


 Prime hour
 gravel spit.


 A moonlit drive
 is pried from time
 as tomorrow sings
 a phantom wing.


 Beware the stare
 of a mirrored crouch
 this highway claims
 with grey retrace.


 A mean-machine
 liar-fire.


 Slights-in-trance
 we fuck in the muck
 of a dim repose.


 Trollops n’ plug tails
 singing names.


 Goads from roads
 a bone to light
 by courting the smoke
 of a mindful growth.


 A fingerless
 lingering
 proffers nil.


 Eyes downcast
 the vein of moments.


 Hymns a pill
 of days to bring
 with strait-laced folly
 flushing will.


 We dare to be square
 with the shimmied privy
 of wheels in grease.


 Through webs of love
 with iron gloves.


 Our flesh machines
 are spitting names
 on the witching hours
 reaving clean.


 So one more moonlit-
 song for one more grey-
 retrace-


 the cut of your jib
 on the freezing wind
 of my solitude blinks
 a release to fire.


 A prime time
 highway pyre.


 A whisper lights
 this smoke-in-trance.


 & the road is gone
 to mirrored dawn.