1976:

Wheels, tires, asphalt 

Spinning over white lines

Black eye throbbing from the night before

Whiskey sitting in the pit of my stomach

Ash in the tray dirty white shirt 

looping over shoulder blades

Bowie 1976

Don't know a single goddamn song of his 

Found the shirt on the beach

Needed a shirt, it fit. 

Take a hit, pass the stoke 

Press the pedal to the floorboards 

Tires squeak,

sand spits, gravel flies 

Another hit, cigarettes in ashtrays 

Wax on a long board 

Dented in barely holding on

Fabricated with polyurethane 

to hold its leash

Smell of salt, rising tide

Smell of caffeine, stale French fries and synthetic bath salts 

Ill stay in the water till 

my arms can't carry me