Write a story of roads

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A road to mountains,
a running river
of black bitumen
divides an arid mustard land.
Sun brushes brandy braised peaks.

Bald bare ridges reflect
her golden face
and on tar black I race
to the end of red and blue
ribbons.

The vellum feeds through rollers
in shades of snow and ice
and absorbs the story
of a road with uncertain ends.

the journey seeks no destination
but the adventure of change.
To fill trapped senses
with dirt and asphalt,
to drown in sand
and walk on stormy seas.

To fly scudded skies
with gulls and harriers
and change course
with fickle westerly winds.

Guided not by maps
but by the hand of divine chaos,
threading dust
and trammeled earth,
mud and marsh.

Eat with skin
and drink with eyes
the extent of all that unfurls
under tented skies.
Look to the next mountain
and keep tramping
until my tyres implode.

-Dave Kavanagh

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