Sharing a sky

I have a friend who
Shares her garden
And we, task of strays

She wants me tatooed
And if her permanent smile
It could win
My skin I'd gladly give

But she's like the rest of us
A little fucked
In her own chambered way

and tatoos more temporary than we think

Her mind and body know
Too many bad days
But her heart flits always
Good and plumb
In the garden of
Dragonfly wings

I think of her often,
This lady outlaw
Held by Doc Holliday

And now, as i sail
The calm of a fall day
While Desperado
Sings me to sad

I will pass close,
Not close enough to touch
Or share a coffee
But a sky
And birds in passing feeder to feeder

The coffee will happen
Maybe even the tatoo
But today, across the expanse
Of outlaws and strays
The sky will be enough

Good morning Marion

Johnny's bar

It was a hell of a day,
A hell of a week
One of much loss, and
Very little gain
With Chicago showing small favor

Johnny's scribbled my prescription
And Dawn filled it

The trail from my truck
Was easy to follow
As many bled this
Passage through
The broken fence

A real throwback,
This johnny's, where
Everyone smokes, even
The bartender
And the juke box
Cries, like a lone wolf Ball hung on a barb wire fence

Two young girls shoot pool as
We all twist to spy the
Denims stretch,
But when they kiss
Many lose interest

The guy next to me has
Quartered Gypsy Woman
And George Jones.
I approve as i watch his eyes close, His body rocks And his hands rub his phone
As a genie's lamp

He's fat, too so
And i wish to comfort him
But not now
-he's gone remembering

On my other side, is Brent
Another trucker playin the ATM
Like penny slots

His army brat wife with
Twelve tatoos and his
Two kids has said goodbye , And he shoots crown
Like lemon drops
Him i comfort

When my prescription runs out
And runs over
I order a pizza
And follow our path,
Our fix To another day
Another highway

more pics from the road

A watch

Got a watch today, an ugly one
They seemed pleased i hadn't wrecked a truck or killed civilians in my first year.
The small stuff they'll overlook
Wink wink
i hate watches. Would never wear one.
I hate time, it never runs in my favor.
This one has cheap n gawdy written all over it.

Reminds me of my mother
"it's a boliva!" she said, as she proudly layed it in my hand.
"the guy in the bar had a bunch of em in his coat. I only paid ten dollars for it!"
Her bloodshot eyes nearly beamed.
Nearly
I looked at it closely
I wore it for the eight days it ran.
Never had the heart to tell her that Boliva isn't spelled Bolivia

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On My Walk

Last night
I met a strange girl
It was a good night for a walk
And we both knew it

I showed her the sunset
But she'd already seen it
She looked anyway
So I could see it in her eyes

She was a strange one
But strange was her sanity

She would look left
Point right
And talk right down the middle
Where the truth is
Always overlooked

I swear I met her before
And the wind in her laugh
Gave me entrance
To a place I had known

We parted easy
With only smiles
And I watched her
Become one with the shadow

It was a good night for a walk
And we both knew it
And somewhere down the middle
I remembered her truth

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Travellin on

I'm freezin!
n it feels wonderful
It's a great day to be a traveller
I nosed in, nestled in really, to a piece of field last night on the edge of a truckstop in northern ohio.
Woke up this mornin and stepped gently into the day. The sunshine played lightly along everything.
Down a ways in the grass were some wanderers. They had a tent but a couple of them just lay in the open, just a sleeping bag and incongruous white pillow. Some slept, some woke n stretched. Maybe a fly by night rock band playing bars for a hundred a night. Who knows, doesn't matter.
In the truckstop we travellers bumped each other as we strangers brushed our teeth together in the sink just shaved in. It's alright.
Getting coffee, a thirty somethin blonde with bad bed head n wearin whatever was available gave me a sleepy smile as we fumbled through the creamers.
Both silently agreeing, it's alright.
Now the friday miles slip easy to an indie radio station playin good stuff.
travellin
Today, it's alright

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More Road Pics

Buffalo

Was kind after all
And september
Still is for songs

It thundered all night long
As a cool rain
Pounded my roof
And blew on my feet

And it gave me the cbc
No clear channel
American bullshit playing the same
Old bullshit
Over n over

Now, in the new morning
The air is crisp, the clouds heavy
The wind strong
And i am alive, smiling
As i should
With the windows down
And the cbc playing
True road songs
It's a good day
Buffalo was kind
Thank you buffalo
For thinkin of me

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Buffalo

Buffalo,
Will you be kind?
The long hot summer is passing

I've wilted under it's heat
Waded through its floods
Searched for a breeze
And was always a dollar short
Of a long ago shade tree

Will you let erie
Blow me a breeze?
Will you let the leaves
Twist in a crazy song
Will you let the waves
Sleep me to wake?

Last week,
Atlanta beat me to death
Twice. For good measure

But its september now
A month for songs
A month of ease before
The cold winds speak
Get ready

September is a time
A gentle ticking
Its a place
In tender hearts

And Buffalo,
Your big, powerful,
Able to swing me fully
From summer's final gallow

As i drive north, Buffalo,
I spill my prayer
Under the gavel of your call
Buffalo,
Will you be kind
This september day?

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The Postmaster Makes Me Wait

Here
In his silly fence
I smoke in his weeds
His bathroom
Is only for those shackled
In badges
He thinks i am his
I am nobody's
I have no badge
No place beyond the weeds

Big planes fly above
They have bathrooms
And flight

See, i am already gone
Fuck your magazines
And badges

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