loretta built skylines in her hotel by lamp light

nothing like falling asleep at the wheel
theres a monkey skull on the freezer shelf
begging for a suede handout
with a fistfull of fish and a paranoid stand off
platinum nuances stoking my ego
then a word to the right from the left set in motion
all the beauty of stagnance and the pieces of perfect
got a drum of pure misery and two quarts raw sympathy
baking in a coal fire stove
got me running got me hiding got to be more than a principal
all adaptations taste awful in introduction
but theres road weary criminals
and essential bad gurus
theres a sandwhich shop laced with a decades indignities
and the farmers dry tabacco shell peas with the little uns
while the missus play footsy with the visiting vagabonds
its a whole new world out there man, and forgive the expression
but tomorrow is hideous while today seems just ugly
and yesturdays fair as it hustles away
but isnt it the charm that brings the eyes to the fire
and the blind all the while offer no words of warning
the wisdom has run out of the cups and its fitting
cause the bottom fell out and the thirsts been outsourced

snow plow plantation

with ware of asphalt and backroad dust
my boots speak volumes of the search
slept in box cars and rail yards
beside rivers and the kindness of strangers

faces painted thick with road lust and sun stroke
mom and pop video store/gas station
in a town with three houses and one street light

there was nothing under all those rocks we over turned
no a glimmer of freedom in the oil slicked highways
lost with an atlas that was all destination and no journey

plastic palm trees and pink flamingos decorating the only vestiges of a forgotten generation
the malt shops and drive-ins abandoned by time
all the juke boxes link to itunes and the saw dust floors have been tiled over
a fist fight is a felony and a drag race is is close behind

protests and propaganda lead based toys new influenzas
a war in every living room for thirty some odd years and im tired of peeking out toward the horizon and burning my eyes

if you think you've seen the promise land, i promise your a fool

what soft grace in disregarding the disaster of the season
she's ill but carries handbag full of cure alls and redemption
theres no beauty left
we watched the last of it sail off into the final sunsets just before the switch from analog to digital but i think she could serve as a reminder at least
of the moment before the shithouse burned and the stench of truth caked our nasal passages...

one longstanding memory of dust and clay and rubarb she said what did you want to be before you realized it was over

red lights, blue lights,
glare

and i love the way
he dances
center stage
singing into the mic
greasy hair in face
the occasional break of a
drumstick
drummer,
wasted, shirtless and
slightly
off beat

and i love the way
you lean
and tap yer cowboy boots
as you play guitar
scarf dangling
off yer tight levi's

and i love the way
we scream
and drink
and sway
to garage rock nights

she feeds on the mystery,
no need to plead for answers