They drive west.
Roads rhythmically serpentine.
Roads laser-straight boredom.
West at dawn, light dazzling in their rear view mirror.
West at noon, mirage like dancing snakes.
West in the evening, the atomic glow of the sun buried in the horizon.
They drive all night.
West beneath the Great Bear and the Belt, its sword slicing icy cirrus.
West across sultry wetlands, fetid swamps, and sauna deserts releasing their heat.
West between the Moon and silvered fir, creaking oak, shadowed mesquite.
They drive west until they reach the sea.
They gaze at the water and yearn for its embrace.
Before they swim they sing.
They sing of laughter and horror and triumph and misery and rebellion and exhaustion and hatred and forgiveness.
They sing between the notes, above board, below the knees but never on the nose.
They sing until their throats scratch as wire and thorns and shattered glass swirls in their song.
They sing and then they swim.
They swim until they drown in the deep green water.
They drown in the turquoise pool.
They drown in red tides and high tides and ebb tides and tide pools no deeper than a baby’s breath.
And then they rest.
In the west.
Anonymole - apocryphal agitators 
I think if you work on the meter or pattern of syllables or whatever you could have a real gem here.
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Yeah? Prosetry is about all I can handle.
And as Daniel Day Lewis said: “They are not strangers… and they stay as they lay.”
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Best in the west.
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The one inside out line is perfectly placed and freaking genius.
There’s a story about a famous Police song where the groove goes inside out on the second or third chorus. Stewart Copeland was asked about it and he said, paraphrased, “Sting will tell it was genius and I’ll tell you we got lost on the turnaround.” Either way – BOOM
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‘Fraid I do not know of this “inside-out” line of which you speak of. It must have fallen into place while I wasn’t looking. I should pay more attention to such things, or so my therapist tells me. “Keep a diary,” she says, “one you can burn someday when you’re all better.”
All better, she says, like that’s gonna happen in my lifetime. And for this I pay her? She’d take the money, regardless, after all, I’m married to her.
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The one line that breaks the They first word. Perfectly placed to split the scene from driving to singing and drowning. One of those Bob Ross happy accidents we never question, but proves the point that the muse is always way ahead of us.
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Jesus man, poetry. And the long yearned for release.
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There’s happy ending jokes all over that comment… but you nailed it.
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LOL!
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