redneck dreaming

went west a few nights ago      
took the good car      
the fast car      
some decent bourbon      
and a few choice recordings      
for the road      
     
in this country    
west is less a direction    
and more a descent      
into the blood-colored dry heart of some ancient creature      
waiting patiently      
dispassionately      
while the latest fad      
Us      
burns itself out      
     
went far enough west that the coppers don’t go there      
to catch one car a day and anyway      
the kangaroos      
forever wired up to see headlights coming      
from miles and miles away and think      
only in the last instant      
“I can make it”      
then spring across your bonnet      
all 200 kilos of the stupid fuckers      
natures speed humps    
rats on steroids    
and me with no ‘roo bars on my car      
so keeping my eyes wide for that twitch      
before their 30 foot leap into my lap    
a madness in them    
it must be    
(the desert doesn’t ruin
only      
the minds of men)    
     
so roll the dice    
push the big V8 up to 80      
and tear across the heart of this island      
cleaning up bugs so well that their deaths are pretty as soft rain      
on my windscreen      
said it before and I’ll say it again      
endings      
always endings      
     
put a recording on    
crank it up      
Hamlet      
done moody and big      
wind the window down to smoke      
take a few good pulls of bourbon to keep everything sharp    
and the throttle down    
nothing makes a car go faster    
than hard liquor    
on and on and on across the sea-wide land      
heading nowhere      
sailing an arrow course      
to my own dreaming      
spilling words out behind me from the stereo      
leave them tumbling in my wake      
disordered      
reordered      
who knows what they write themselves into      
in their fading moments      
let loose on the world      
a instant of freedom      
free as the birds      
rolling roiling rollicking words    
tangling in the cool desert air    
and in the morning    
long after I’m gone    
their bodies empty of sound and meaning    
burned clean    
by the love    
of the sun  



{an older work, back by request....thank you stranger, for the love of words}