Five Poems

Ode to the Road Through

When I spend them, I don’t know
the oil from the porn dollars,
the lobbyist’s cash
from the senator’s stash
that’s seeped down
from his campaign to Citgo
and me and some cigs
I won’t smoke but worship
on the dash a few hundred miles
across America. The nub of a sawed-off
sticks out from under the counter

People on couch
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