When I was a boy, the devil would taunt me and call my name,
He would say to me who do you,
who do you think you are fooling
And we would play the game
Today I sit in the house, with a cup of coffee in hand
and I think of Bakersfield or Flagstaff Arizona
all the places I have been
I sit here somewhat wounded and bleeding
Licking the cuts
I want desperately to find a two-lane and own it
Replete with soft shoulders
Pot holes and fences
Take me from this miserable city
With its noise, dirt, crime and petty offenses
The open road, my old heart is calling for you once again
C’mon baby, give me a little more of you
C’mon baby, yeah, give me a little more of you
Walk a little ways in my shoes
No more nosy neighbors or barkin dogs
Electric bills or natural gas
Give me the road
And kiss the part of me
That goes over the fence last.
I hear the train in the distance
Such a lonely sound it makes,
When it is gone there is only silence
So quiet, you can hardly hear the sound of my heart as it breaks.
Tuesday morning in the Big Town.
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Filed under: Recent | Tagged: getting away, nostalga, poetry, prose
Wanderlust. That’s what ails ya. An ice cold six-pack will fix you up. No flashes of lightning nor chill winds can make up for not acting on your impulses.
Yeah, I’m the one awake at 4 a.m. today, thanks to flashes of lightning and chill winds, tho.
Whatsmattermehuh? I put two prose together? I cannot believe I did that (sometimes I schedule these and just keep on writing)this was not supposed to happen. Oh well, as long as the response is favorable, that is the gist of it, the meat of the bone, where the rubber meets the road, gee whiz, pick one for cryin’ out loud!
4am isn’t anything, I finish my paper route around 4:30am every morning, have to find some way to buy gasoline right?
I no longer imbibe (drink) LM I got tired of waking up in strange houses, on the floor, with people I did not know. That kind of stopped it for me. Now when I get up in the morning, believe it or not, “this is the best I am gonna feel all day long” demon rum and I do not get along.
Lost my pickup for a whole week one time because of beer, someone finally called me and told me to come get it, but I didn’t have a clue for a whole eight days as to where it was.
The sixties were rather good to me, and yes, I did inhale.
Boy did I inhale, have a great week.