LONG GONE 95 by Paul Corman Roberts
Ghost ridden stretches the I-95
Cascade straddles the periscope horizon
Big city sinners dance immaculate
Inside sleep where you will see God’s country
Rich boys take it all up the surfaces
The cumming of white men pays off steady.
Rooftop gives surface to the hustler’s cry
Immaculate squat gone flaky with scheme
Robin Hood queers got one steady today
95 lies alone from Kingman poet
Country roads; I love my trailer park root
This horizon loving carney flesh shows.
Mama’s tracks stop at 95 truck stops
Still live loving surfaces betrayal
Convenience lost in country compact love
Steady nerves don’t hold, flipping in Vegas
Horizon ending in Spokane diner grease
Strung out to immaculate perfection
Strung out to the immaculate rejection
Surface man who once belonged to the street
Now all that is 95 lives away
Wakes of country pagans are more honest
Steady now son; the road just wants your life
Horizon’s gone; no more “have a nice day.”
Run to the horizon. Sleep in the dust.
Run to the country, it’s all your life’s work.
He’s cute on the surface, but wears no wings
Immaculate in bed, he pulls your strings
But his steady is rich, white and dickless
Highway 95 pads your every footfall.
Losing your not so steady grip on him
Your country roots are just as much a lie
As his new 95 grand a year blowjob
And his immaculate new trophy bride
You should never have left the horizon
You should never have got off the surface
of that long winding fucked up surface
that steady immaculate country horizon 95.