Highway 64
I went for a drive down Highway 64 on the way toward
Wichita.
I was
tired
of fighting and kicking my own ass and needed a place to pull my truck over and
relax.
I wanted to forget but
needed to remember.
When I got out,
arms stretched in the autumn breeze, I felt November wrap her arms around me.
She welcomed my stopping, because most just drive through.
Things are always better after I've been with you, where I've had a chance
to wail
out lyrics I could have written myself about
cats and dogs and doves that cry,
stories about shooting stars and rivers and mountains to climb.
We are all floating and trying to gain our strength.
We are all our looking for a place to stay safe,
the road of yellow
that will ensure we don't slip
off the cliff.
We are all searching for the town called Bliss (most are already there and just don't know it).
We are
roses with thorns put on display,
on the dashboards,
for the world to see --
We may be prickly and weathered
from the sun,
but we
were alive once, and will be again.
We will mingle
with the air and
drop our leaves without a care.
Because in the end,
our fragrance keeps us company and our colors
take us home.
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