or how’s it go? don’t ask for whom the bell tolls
Alexander hates it when people talk about themselves in the third person
Jack Kerouac lives! no, his spirit never died, he’s still on the road
being drug down that road he no longer travels himself
or down roads he never traveled upon
quoted and misquoted and made up quotes
cold breaths of november are missed
morning sky tapestries of yellow and orange
giving way to hot blue skies of yellow blur
hiding from the sun in a cool dark bar
hiding from the law
hiding from life in general
later on, I’m going outside tonight to listen to the moon and stars
whispering music of the maple trees above me
not going anywhere, just wandering
you and your sutras and boottras
put your zen nonsense in your frayed backpack and get out of here
go to your beloved zendo and fossilize
no different than hiding in a bar
any day above ground is a day above ground
after walking the earth, that’s what I’ve found
staring at a miller neon sign
drinking wine and wondering what might have been
coulda, shoulda, woulda
but it’s water under the bridge, so what difference does it make now
what’s done is done, done wrong or otherwise
the old dog just lays on the floor looking content
his head not full of crazy thoughts and regrets
stop by the liquor store and pick up some
at my friends new house and in the distance I can hear a train…I like the place already
I walk in through the screen door slam
the aroma of incense wafting throughout the new house of happiness
a lone evergreen candle flickering silently by the window as I walk by
soft lights and big red pillows
softer music caressing the air
this is the kind of house and atmosphere I’d want
if I ever got myself straight
if I ever worked steady
my motivation lays in bed all day
and drinks all night
