I Am Not a Place

I am a road. Blue highway,
At best, badly tended; worst,
A logging road in backwoods,
Uprooted soil unstable
In mud time, a choking cloud
Of hopeless dust in summer.
Given a choice, I wouldn't

Drive me. You shouldn't even
Glance down the ruts through the trees.
That's not me. I'm what happens
When you find out for yourself.
There is a killer searching
For you, the killer searching.
I'm empty. I'm you. It's true.