Take my room key, cowboy.
I'm picking up my pace.
Singing to myself the love songs
I read in the pocket of your guitar case.

Of your morbid scenarios, I am another victim.
Hands stuck together, beads glisten,
but I wash them boys away
So I can kick dirt with you.

Along the road with the mobile homes.
Trucks on the highway, vibrating stones.
Years away from our ears.
I need nothing else but this.

Those city streets get blurred
through muddied windshields.
Three-legged dogs lick their young,
huddled down in the exits, smeared along the interstate.

I can live on just this.

Small hotel rooms with a standing closet
for what may not fit.
I'm walking fast, your long stride in my boots,
down this placid stretch of land.

I will pass you at the smoke shop, a shy acknowledgement.
It's red wine in this paper bag.
Take it from me.
Take it easy, I'll mail that letter for you.

Her time will come again.
You're on my road, tonight.

08/01/2005

Posted on 08/01/2005
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