what i saw in Dylan's collarbone

----Antlers forking blue with great bone Y—--the Either/Or of trips not taken in shiny cars stolen from sputtering stations with light bulb moths beating against---- stars---- the Imaginary West—--an undead tree rooting deer skulls---- decay the too sweet smell of death on the highway—--the too sweet smell of life—--skin salt--—stopping to gaze into canyons in desert femurs—--stopping to gaze into questions that fall off maps wrinkling walls of black coffee diners where fat Mod bends to refill your cup—- passing trucks----static---- the tune we all knew—--we all knew it once— --some kid leaning over my drawing “What are you on?”—--“Nothing this is how I see it” ---–how I see God--—tigers freed with skeleton keys that claw and pray and maybe even love--—

ed rushan's imaginary west

editors drink my

if you

no one will drink your sauce

not even him.