Between The Lines

Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing … O rest beside the weary toad and hear the angels sing …  Old buses always seem to run faster on the way home, and most of the time, the road always seems to stay the same.

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Monday I hauled ass out of the campground

kicking up dust and making lots of noise

Over the big bridge

just south of the dam

hammered down

and on my way

in my mirrors

I see Vegas fading away

I am once again,

a Happy Man.

Today I find

I am waltzing thru my gears

and standing on the pedal,

hogging the passing lane

my right foot buried in the firewall

a little bit lighter in my wallet

Bought Bio-diesel just fifty miles ago.

all topped off and rarin’ to go

Living large in the passing lane,

I aint blowing any smoke.

pushing the legal limits

and stretching out the old two-stroke

Eastbound and down

6 on the floor and the other foot

out the door,

heading home

Tuesday spent the night outside of Grants

tucked back in the rear of the lot.

snoring my life away

what can I say,

I am on the backhaul,

making my way home.

Wednesday I slept until noon

outside an Amarillo greasy spoon

woofed down day old biscuits

laced with Jelly and Texas hot sauce

which I bought the day before outside Albq. New Mexico

on top of nine mile hill

On the westside of town

Inside the Travel-Mart Quick Stop

along with a #3 washtub of coffee

to wash it all down.

The third day finds me spending the night

next to a Motel Six

In Sayre, Oklahoma

Home of the 39 civilized tribes

the sun fades as I arrive

Red Dirt roads and I am home again

Much quicker than I surmised.

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Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing … O rest beside the weary toad and hear the angels sing …  Lyrics are from “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” which is somewhat appropriate for this time of the year.

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