Confusion in Underground Clouds

Backseat Mausoleum

We were hidden deep,
in the Wraith's backseat
listening to the whistle and whine
of the downed windows sucking wind
as the wheels spin.
Light disappears on the infant's
spine hanging from the rearview
as it swings
with the curves, twists, and turns
in the road.
The heat shimmers in waves
rising like spirits from the asphalt:
a curtain, a veil lifting off the world
to reveal the secret highway
littered with the flesh of the half lives
of a million lovers rent and burnt
on the engine block altars
of one million Rolls Royce Phantoms.
Hearts beat like raven(ous) pulses
perched in the bleached bark trees
lining the sides of the interstate;
beyond, salt plains and sulfur waves
paint the sky a blood spattered grey
with their fumes.
We rise hand in hand
to watch the landscape drift by.
Eternity in eternal shift and flux
no destination, no home,
no fixed point, just a straight line
two particles in a wave
racing through the between,
knife in heart,
into forever
arm in arm