Neon green sky,
mere reflection of a gasoline painted land.
Lonely traveler. Weary bones.
Dusty road. Dirty car.
Bounce about eternity,
mind ping-pongs along.
Fried egg eyeballs – eat em’ for breakfast
or dine on them at nine.
In the twilight zone, it’s all the same.
Drink the eggplant darkness,
become another ghost.
Lonely traveler. Weary bones.
Time, clothed in scarlet insanities,
sings her somber lullabies,
to a land that has long been dead.
Deep beneath the interstates of hell,
I yearn to slumber.
Jana Carrey
Fall, 2003
