In the brisk summer night...

When the road falls…What happens next…Do we plummet into shadow…Or hastily fly…There lying in the shadows…is what we could surpass…does it all slip away so easily…under a placid mauve sky with a chalk dot moon…looming in the wisps of bleach stains in the heavens. Ranting to savor the time, upon two wheels we can glide into infamy…greeting the twilight strangers, the jovial tavern folk, and the brawling bastards of Neanderthal discontent. Them rails will break your heart when they hit that turn, and like a rag doll you’ll go where them pillars of wind toss ya’. Weave the glass Pollok pavement and dodge them yellow strobe strips in the empty suburban two-lane. Beckon others to bay at the moon along side the adolescent figments which occupy your aura. Wing into the unknown and when the road falls you slide on home. Leaving nothing more than the ember of a Winchester sitting in it’s sage knowledge of an evening too soon forgotten, docile and isolated in the ether of asphalt under a pearl moon obscured by the nebulous skies.