we don't stretch very far
and the cracked road sunk with rainwater
swell flush out the rot of a million nation's tombs
wash thick red ink baked by waking suns steam
on off-ramps and dye hard packed streets chestnut brown
aged in iron casks out comes meadering souls
to fill out the space between the white lines
to amble forth siphon the air from what's left of the earth.
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