Hunger that just won’t be filled,
not by the light
of a gas station sign.
Deep, buzzing hum
of a million watts of power
shaking back the night
and chilling off
cheap beer and sour milk.
There is a life
that never satisfies.
Never slakes the thirst,
or drains the bag.
One that almost screams
at the thought of waiting
one more night
through this interminable vacuum.
The snake
that eats its own tail.
The motor’s running.
The tank is full.
Well, maybe full enough
to make a decent run for it.
The street lights end
a couple hundred yards
off into the uninterrupted black
of the August night.
That way is beyond.
That way is the way out.
I shift in my seat,
terribly uncomfortable
with the idea of being
way out there
all alone.
Past any explored territory.
long past Ultima Thule
and on and on
into the unfathomable abyss.
The old sign flickers,
snaps and flutters,
skinned with a living coat
of moths and flies.
Why are they so attracted to the light?
None of them break free
and make for the highway.
They stay in the light,
safe,
for a little while at least.
A big transport truck
rumbles past,
and for a moment,
the signs of life are startling.
It disappears into the night
and taking with it
the mystery
of that dark road.
Night lasts too long
in the Land of the Damned.
Morning comes
and there is no more
path to get away,
but it’s coming.
The mystery is waiting.
HG – 2019
