Bitterbrush Road, Part I


Bitterbrush Road, Part I


Ride along to the sound of nowhere

The Meth Prophet, boss, landless gentry,
free from his own candied catechisms

He carries the circus keys inside him,
rides 100KPH on a hundred bush roads

Flipping snow stacks, cards must shuffle,
see his world motionless in motion
All sunken roads rise in the beginning
All riders risen, ridden down in the end

The ditch will entertain him, more softly
than his garbage hounds gripping dinners

Freefall, the timeless half second, spaceless
in static half vision
, spit bolts his tongue

Carry me to this place, this road, this night


Bitterbrush Road, Part II


Walk towards the sound of tires spinning on ice

He is dreaming of burning bitterbrush,
a zombie forest where junkies fan out
across God’s evergreen street corners

His spinning wheels reflect the eyeless

Water drips on his forehead, steam steady,
from gathering, conscious storm clouds

Morning bells ring, playing him, drunkenly,
this punctured reality, his collapsed crucible

Resurrection finds him panting in ice blood,
mixed shock rehearsed in midnight headlights
His transfixed exit as hellbent kin witness,
ruby eyes, deathly awe fixed in half darkness

Take me from this place, this road, this night.


Jason Stelzner