Insight has lost its worth
For it no longer blesses thy journey;
It is a burden, a hex,
Pointedly accusing
And draining all chai.
How often does it rain?
Even cold grass
Does not sprout green
For it has lost its vision,
Quest departed long ago
Sun turned into mold.
Gravel roads
And sombre trees
Who no longer speak;
Dormant, sleeping, away
Unto this vision
Cold and ungracefully lacking.
Don’t go calling on a whisper,
Worn out in an icebox
Left behind with gravel
Torn bits of a working past.
Don’t leave it there
For it will fade until forgotten
And cease to mean
What it once meant to be.
Its function will go away,
And its form and vigor
Will become used car sales lots
At the dodgy end of town.
For there is no good come
Of a screw head stripped of groove,
Nor a dollar bill
Faded to dust.
Can you control my yelling as I short my conscience to your wedding?
-Laughing with the children blowing bubbles down by the pond-
I didn’t expect to see your friend Lucifer standing there
As I convinced you to drag the fresh linens through tumbleweeds of mystery
-It is the style, I explained bitterly through my clenched teeth-
Amazed to know you fret over the cake with your eyes opened so wide
Calming the sunshine with sips of refreshments from white dixie cups
-I chewed all around the top rim of mine, unable to resist the feeling-
Your sawdust left a trail for the onlookers to follow as you trailed off into obscurity
“Madness” they muttered under their breath directing their eyes to your mother
Her hands were boiling with innocence; a fools bargain at the end of the road
-My loaded shotgun wasn’t a toy gimmick to be taken lightly, though I held it so-
Even the village authorities didn’t know what to make of it all
Trained as they were in 39 different methods to disengage a situation
A calming hustle settled over the observers
-I came prepared with my gradient tinted aviators and beer cozy-
The ’57 should-be-retired Cadillac rolled on over the loose gravel
Unnerving the guests as her tumbleweed dress sat down amongst the tears and stains
Rat piss and shit and splintered deluxe leather upholstery
Sporting a vintage look you can only get from years of missing affection
-I couldn’t help but remark on the timing of it all-
Doorless I was on my sturdy ’94 Bronco, I still had a radio good for the local DJ
But oh was I jealous of the missing hubcap on that old Cadillac
Rattling free as they sped through the streets, top always down.. it was a ’57 after all
We all knew they were notorious for having glitchy automatic tops
Plus, the rust on that thing was shining so bright in that heathen sun
-I turned to the wild thing next to me, nearly popping out of her mid-twenties figure dress-
“Say Cindy-Lou, I’ve gotta cooler full-a-beer, two lawn chairs an’a good-ol-radio
Wanna grab my shotgun an’head on up to the ol’ mine and shoot the breeze?”
-I could see it in her eyes it wasn’t the beer she was after-
Her nose rings and solid gold spacers told me she liked firing shotguns
Wild women always had a soft spot in my heart
Their unnerving contradictions always dropped my caution to the wind
But I rolled out of there with my spirits singing about Friday nights
2 good speakers in the ol’ Bronco: front right and rear left
-I wasn’t spitting sin, I was just riding on the gin waves of the 1230 nuptialities-
So we left those 76 long jaw’d and sweating visitors at those old rodeo grounds
The automatic shifter kicked a bit as it shifted into third
But the dust wasn’t settled from the ’57 Appaloosa
Rattling down the never happier road to short lived elation
We turned right when they turned left
We headed higher as they got down; after all it was honeymoon season
In the land of Friday nights and worn out shotguns
I was an angel;
Struggling against purpose,
Harboring desire
Deep within action words
That you could not hear,
You could not feel,
You could not understand…
But we floated
I was an angel;
Distracting minute details
Into synchronicity,
Juggling and balancing
And crawling beside
Straight lines
Wish-washing my roads
With gravel timelines..
Dirty bloody knees
I was an angel
Singing my love-rich song
With arrows and soft colours
Diluting my expression
Like overcast clouds
On damp, dreary days.
Long words lingering on,
Left behind in old thoughts.
Below your needs and wishes and desires
Sneaks a long legged bastard with evil desires
Screaming the devil and riding with bulls
Our roaming handles ride out in style
Along the gravel roads
Wisdom pulls at the rocks
Polluting the desire wheels
And holding onto the plan
Don’t let the train run through these hills
Clogging the damned marshes to bulldozed highrises
As far as we’ve planned and disregarded omens
They aren’t going hiding, our wisdom within
Please let the elders speak feelings freely
Hold onto the deep thoughts from within
Random encounters that plant a seed
Life seed that joins all nature as one
A cool glove wrestles my eyes shut
Demanding I throw my caution to the wind
Relapse into my nightly routine of unconscious drabble
But ho! I keep a steady battle against the dusty cowboys
Distinction holds the gun against my belt
And loose gravel ties my soul along my throat
Ready to burst at the onset of a tremor
Ready to gush at the first sight of a lover
And then, like the silently sweeping motions of the clouds
A calm rustles amongst the trees of my scalp
Allowing me to enjoy, for just a brief moment
The endless summers of Eldorado
But just as clouds soon change shape and disperse
The thought swiftly leaves the action
Leaving my yearning soul back in the game
Pistol in hand, this is going to be a dirty one