rides to an airport that hurts

Seventies cars
thought in a dream
where everyhtings faded
not just the paint
bridges that glisten
in the light of a sun rise
and hospitals don't matter
for bandages hurt
all of the girls
and the nights
and the booze
with the drugs
and the pleasure
that could never be found
comprable to any day
that has a light
so bright
and makes cars
look like faded matchbox dreams
rolling over a bridge
to be fallen upon my passage
in the morning
sun glistening down
like drops of ice tea
that no one will drink
becasue there is beer in the trunk