Saturday's Satan

Saturday's satan appears
on the rolling horizon,
which is a vanishing road,
a wet line of blue and black
that distinguishes this from that
and here from there.
but hides the answers in small towns,
in the vacant buildings
beside the bus station,
in the eerily lit strip malls
in their October loneliness,
in the blue hum and pulse
of the suburban television
at 2:00 a.m.,
in the grey barn
struggling to stand.
From this journey
we take everything
and to it we give everything.
This road consumes everything,
leaving behind only the rusting
skin of ancient travel.