we drive through an unconcerned landscape. 

analog transmutations briefly engage our distracted memories.

there is no signal here.

there is some here.

thoughts are carelessly misplaced along the way. 

we don't need them anyway...

gotta stop. gotta stop. gotta stop...

even our piss is arid. 

we keep driving.

everyone is alone now.

some of us are asleep.

an untucked republican with a fully loaded erection approaches us:

"do you ever dream en español?"

he sure asks a whole lotta questions.

in the distance a jagged boulder mingles with the stars.

"how much longer must we make meaning?" 

"it doesn't matter, the myth is dead."

we get to the border and kick dirt into each other's eyes. 

"Your America is a beautiful, dangerous lie."