I'm leaving the red heart of Phoenix
at forty five degrees to life
the windows are down
a june bug crawls across the dash
Brian Wilson soars on the radio
an outbound freight accompanies

through the little towns
that star the Arizona night
the White Tanks are passing on my left
the train tracks following on the right
the overpasses and underpasses
have the roller coaster feel
of moebius strips...  where am I?
I'm getting sleepy:
tractor trailers in front of me,
a false dawn behind
if I'm lucky I'll make Las Vegas by sunrise
and I won't lie.