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November 4, 2021


the sahara, the dunes, the thunderbird, the riviera
and more like them, all the pretty inviting lights

fancy carpets, the waitresses with short shorts

handing out fruity mimosas

a lot of money was made///

walked out the door with a blonde on each arm

sammy frank dean johnny and all the rest

where’d they all go, they’re all gone now

all the money’s gone and so are the blondes

I know where I’m going

away from the lights and the crush of people on the strip

away from the buskers and the people hustling for money

on the bridges that cross the streets full of the wide eyed masses

the tourists playing roulette, blackjack, craps, baccarat

arm wrestling and losing to the one armed bandits

sitting in the the sports betting parlor for hours

the old men passing out cards for x-rated shows on every corner

I’d rather be riding around in my van in the hot barron desert

sandstorm city

visiting my off the grid friends

who have a rusting vehicle or two in their front yards

62 chevy pickup maybe--can’t tell

an old vw bug once red

now sandblasted away--- melting into the earth

and another in the backyard which abuts to some cactus and a whole lot of nothing

no damn homeowners association trying to tell them what to do

man it’s hot out here

my sweat is sweating

but there’s a fridge full of some twelve ouncers

waiting for me

we’ll sit around his torn furniture living room

with his latest barely dressed

railing against whatever comes to mind

the economy, the government, stuff we really don’t care about

but like to give opinions on

he’ll show me that new old bike he just bought

that he rides into the sunset; helmet hell no