Greg Lutze
She spends most evenings
in a smoky haze of
Old Forester
cigarettes
and
high school yearbooks
Everyday
I travel highways and nameless roads
Thru deserts on endless pavement
But no matter how far I go
The road always leads me back to
Yesterday
the motel’s sign stutters
NO VACANCY
VACANCY
VACANCY
NO VACANCY
VACANCY
VACANCY
VACANCY
NO VACANCY
like a star running on empty