The Strip

[Nazz]

The Strip is everywhere.
We won the war, built some highways,
some gas pumps, roadhouses, flashing lights.
We put up neon swoop flourish against deserts.
We put up some rusted Space Age swing,
some billboards on the outskirts of Texas.

The roads all went south
beyond rusted steel plants and jimson weed,
deeper south surrounded by war heroes thick.
Wear the air, breath whispered where it ain’t,
near Vicksburg , the majestic, beaten cannons,
glory and ghosts rising from riverbeds.

They clutch a weapon, a button, a song, a color,
or verse, secrets of universe, blown sand from rock.
Everything fights itself, rain fights its only sun.
God ghosts the holy mountains between.

[Lightning Rod]

you are the soul's travel agent, nazz

[Nazz]

Wow, this is a little freaky. But I used 'ghosts' as a verb, which is absurd, so maybe it's ok.

[hester_prynne]

Whatta ride.
Nazz this is jazz.
Love it
H

[SadLuckDame]

Wear the air, breath whispered where it ain’t,

Nice stuff. I like the double usage of ghosts too.

[Nazz]

Thanks Hes, SadLuck. Continuing a pattern of finding a desert in everything... (That can't be healthy!) Or as the band War put it, "The world is a ghetto." Something like that.