riding my motorcycle takes me away
didn’t matter what road - famous route 101
some anonymous road in colorado; doesn’t matter
anything that curves into the butterscotch sun sweet and tasty
that sensation of being free
buy you’re never truly free of course
you’re free to kill yourself
but then you fall into the clutches of death so you’re not truly free
that’s to think about for another time though
get back to listening to the growl of the engine
the roadside restaurants offering $3.99 breakfast specials
gas stations I haven’t seen in years—- Sinclair*** with the green brontosaurus
Conoco, old barns painted with ads for stuckey’s
faded and relegated to the pages of history
mom and pop hotels with door chains and wall stains
campgrounds, farmers fields surrounded by wire fencing
all passing by in the corner of my eye
stopping under an overpass to get out of the rain
watching it pour and slap the asphalt
like the asphalt said something out of line
riding again—-cooler now
like someone left the refrigerator door open
the clean fresh smell after it rains
road almost empty except for the county sheriff passing me by
giving me the evil eye
like he’d just love to pull me over for something
getting late, I find a mansion for a few bones a night, a kfc next door
television doesn’t work*** toilet runs all night
turn on the a/c full blast
I read some Lao-tzu on my phone
before long I’m dead to the world
