Good Times

It blows my mind that these could be the good times
And I’m learning to live with Coyote
It was weeks ago that I was told
That if the groundhog claimed spring
All the ladies would lose themselves to urges
When even in the cold and dark of winter
I find it hard to keep my composure
And my clothes on and it blows my mind
How indifferent I am during the good times

Should not the music move my mood?
And remove my sooty attitude and scrape from me
The dust and rust and brassy tendencies?
All the potential lovers in the rhythm section
Should be wary for I’ve forgotten all my decencies
Abandoned wholesomeness and grown despondent
Drunk and rowdy I asked frankly and Coyote told me
That I no longer could depend on rock and roll to set my soul free
But I should count my blessing and my crimes
Because though hard to believe these are the good times

And isn’t this the season that reminds
When the weather turns towards wetter climes
The Turtles Back Creation Myth I cling to
Hunger too to crave mushrooms spring new
Created in the melt mud leaf litter fog dew?
Tulips again watching Robin’s pluck earthworms
If I am a book then why in specific would this age
Beholden the high five good times picture page?

While I sit on the hard floors
In the hallowed hallways of higher learning
Lazily gazing downward it would appear
It is also that point in the circling year
For students to purchase new footwear
Shoes for finding mates for falling in love
And if I asked the bodies balances on those soles
Might I find they believe these are the good times?

Even at my most unbound moments flying wildly
Down the parkway the wheels I ride are not mine
If I roll down the window betrayed will be the sunshine
While the miserable cold strikes a minor tune
In what had promised itself to be foxtrot afternoon
Still only the green I see is in the ever-present pine
The dull and leafless highway whines
A prayer that these not be the good times

Oh Coyote won't you please tell me
could these really be the good times?