Roadside Apocalypse Blues

A Poem by Noah Adair

Wind crawls across the highway,
a ghost with gasoline breath,
searching for bodies to hotwire.

Headlights flicker Morse code.
Somewhere a jukebox cries
for a love that never stays.

My mind is a motel room at 3 a.m,
wallpaper peeling off her skin,
neon buzzing
its electric prophecy
through the window.

My thoughts are glass and velvet,
blood and stardust.
But night doesn’t end.

It swallows us.

The moon remains absolutely still -
it neither shrinks nor grows.

Stars drip mercury
into the open mouths of lovers,
and we drink down eternity -
sweet, dark, and bottomless.

We become poets of the abyss,
and we dance on the edge
of a world
God will simply breathe away
in the cracked mirror of morning.