road trip to nowhere

you say i'm lucky,
writing my name on all your lottery tickets;
but instead of waiting we keep driving,
all the way through nebraska
on hot tears and tar.

rain falls short as it stops
for a beer on cloud 9,
providing grass roots with split ends.
the clouds bunch up like fresh popcorn,
but as the sky flickers and fades
they look more burnt than anything.

we lay on a tattered quilt next to amoco,
our 1983 cadalliac reflecting moonlight.
squeezing my eyes shut and wishing on my zodiac,
i ask you what we're running away from,
but i think you are snoring.