trona
out where the tarmac is rough
and the color of oxblood
a steady road hum grazes
the textures of our minds
we survive death valley
but a small town
tears us back down
to every earthly suffering
a sunbleached hell
beside blinding salt flats
broken beyond reckoning
poverty chokes from behind
an ache akin to fingertips
searching the dark for meaning
a bum groping gravel
desperate for cigarette butts
out where the stars are endless
we are blessed to pretend
our dreams were never broken
we get to drive fast past trona
