The dotted lines connect | battle ropes roiling | Signs rush up
to greet | slingshot away | It still means 8 days | from
home to here | The ferry wait takes forever | long lines of 2nd
and 3rd thoughts | A tumbleweed’s a deer | and a deer is
faster | Rocks run along side | loping up | spines gleaming

Places pass through you | needle and thread | The car
rumble | attenuates your ugly crying | Berry bushes
blaze | good-bye red | too-soon gold | Arseholes in trucks
think twice | before crowding your tail | Late afternoon sun
looks over its shoulder | pissed off and gassy | Rest stops

converge | except that crusty one | near Maple Creek | Even
the Moose Jaw cops | hiding in bushes | take you for a local | You
can almost outrun | smoke billowing | from the burning heart
of the west | By day six, you forget why you ever dreamed | you
could stay | It feels like you never left | or maybe yesterday