Provincetown to New York via Connecticut Turnpike, 3 A.M.

old moon rising in Leo the bones of ten thousand kings litter the highway. when we walked by the sea sand, green water, snow on the dunes "what's the use of-" your head now in my lap, the car sways through the Milky Way I'm lying soaked on the earth with the moon around me, tickling my fingers, circle within circle everyone asleep, the hills pass. I smoke, the jug half-empty. at this moment how to tell that bombs are opening the skin of girls like you asleep so long to ride, you better fold your wings over your head, white bones under the turnpike