woke up tin Georgia
with reggae in my ears
and a sun well into a morning sky
for a moment
thought the pill burn
and asphalt dreams
and fine southern swamps
were just to much
consoled back to sleep
by infinities of white lines
racing past me

all being is void
all the different places,
all the same
the more things change and all..
the budhism
of wide bellied AMERICA

three pop culture casualties
down 95 in the afternoon
are the heroin
pumping down AMERICA's
asphalt artery

like chemical visions
from a kalidescopic
mind's eye dreaming
we perused the body
of that woman, AMERICA
with all her curves and heartaches
the demons in dirty bars
the hilltops
grass covered
and smearing out whole worlds
there's a scent to every inch of her

we descended down
through the now meth driven
bible belt
the holy land of dixie
where religion and politics
are still discussed at dinner tables
over corn bread
but never politely
down further
toward the land
of the space shuttle
and the fountain of youth
coincidentally it was
bike week in daytona
and my thoughts flashed
to Kesey's bus
being escorted into that rally
by Hell's Angels in full getup

you want to sing heavenly hosanas
down here in the swamplands?
That's fine.
but do it withh yer whole body at least
and do it pressed against mine
cuz the angels
hear sex, girl
loud and clear
in the dark lonely human night
I'll be a spark
You be a fire fly

the songs gunnin outta the radio
the pills swallowed on interstates
visions melting in the ice cream cone mind
a love affair car chase

What is AMERICA?
i saw it one time on the interstate
i heard it one time on the radio
i fought it one time in a bar
I PRAYED TO IT IN THE BREAKDOWN NIGHT
and i chased her

we're all wrapped up
in the sky
always,
nothin you can do about it

the moon's a crazy sarcastic joker
laughin deep in the dark
at all the running around
down here
and on the bank of this Florida river
with a dreadlock hippie
and a crazy eyed girl
and all these old world alligators
the moon over it all
laughin deep in the dark

on the otherside of this glass pane
that chills my cheek
and fogs under my breath
out there in the everywheres
of AMERICAn night
there's sinners and bohdisatvas
dreaming up this life
that we're livin

in split light moments
Georgia off the road
takes on the attitude
of mind conjured
central african morning

the desolate
car carcasses
on 95 in the
south

eerie lifeless cars, blown out hulking rubber tire skeletons, a white dog or a ghost of long forgotten AMERICAn myths, bilboards as signs of the times, smokeys with sleeping sirens on center dividers, a pile of logs, roadcrews with treasures and accents and trashbags, snoozing truck driving saints with halos hanging off the exhaust pipes of parked diesel titans, mile markers hinting at progress, high tension wires pumping their cosmic juices all over the planet

bumbling drunk in the crystal night
with kalidescope eyes
waiting for Savanah
trying to trade Columbian pesos
for tomorrows
or whole weeks
where is this dream going
but life is traffic
and traffic is life
and oh you light hearted moon
please
keep laughin my way

he was stoic
freewheelin silent budha
in the interstate morning
and 95 turned under him
with a constant karma
gas pedal

yer moon expressions
been gatherin dust
in the bad lighting
of this place
sheering sheep
finding gods in between
the letters in Wichita
and the words don't rhyme
in a rhythym
of waves lapping boat sides
cold beer foam
in your nerves

and in the end
there's only one question
I'm left to answer
"mother nature or arnold palmer?"