To fly upon the back of steel

To ride into the risk of death, always,

Always, upon the edge of stormy days,

And to forget my mother’s worried glances.

One passenger, no luggage,

A life in the balance,

But free from the safety that would close me in

And keep me from the baking son

And the chapping wind.

I am alone in the world.

The past crumbles into dust behind me,

And no future promises anything

But the endless road,

And roaches 

In cheap hotels

That line the highway of my dreams.