The road

The road is where I find
my pictures, my moments
kept. The ones that speak
for me, to me. The ones
to share.

A concrete mammoth

in the tar pits on

Wilshire Boulevard.

The shell of a decrepit

gas station, the empty chair.

The January noon light 

on Sunset Boulevard,

the carcass of a Cadillac

in the carcass of a town.

A concrete brontosaurus

beside a desert highway

with a gift shop in its belly.

My mother once asked me,

why do you take so many

pictures of gas stations?

I told her, because that’s

where we stop.

Sometimes, the picture

is just the road itself;

vanishing, an arrow

pointing to infinity.