And the way you talk it’s where
dreams and souls and lovers go to die
while all the poison coursing through
your veins boils up and you spew it across
the dashboard and the empty passenger
seat, heartless and soulless and coughing
and choking and driving, always driving
southbound like it’s some kind of metaphor
for everything you do and say but really,
it’s just the fastest way home. Then again,
who says that’s not the metaphor?
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the sieve and the sand 
I might line it a bit differently–the way it’s formatted now makes it more prose-y than it could or should be–but the pacing and imagery are both excellent.
Really?
I’m not really following wkkortas comment (that he should even have an opinion on how it should be spaced or whether or not it’s prosey) but I will at least agree in part to say that this is indeed very well done. Or yes, excellent.