The dust and strings and motel lights:
An Iliad of horns which weep
Across the desert south, and sweeps
The meeting place of every scream.
They all converge and break their songs.
Cicada tremolos, which tease
The furtive loves lived out of bounds:
Illegal mouths to feed with dreams.
The voices dub and layer above
A canyon deep, where visions clashed
On streets with water cannon blasts.
Achilles – swift – has lost his fight
And hangs alone above the sands:
A broken man from distant lands.
Alone Again Or, by Arthur Lee and Love