Hookers or Cake

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I'm too wacky to be hip.

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      ------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.

      ----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.

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          • December 5, 2010 11:20 am
            Day turns into night andGod ejaculates a laugh track across the northeastern Rockiesit weaves and dances like a kinda happily forever afterstaring out the widow - Montana going by at a 100 mphthe green dashboard lights humming old gospel tunesthe star filled dusk cracking open a thousand cold light beers your heart like a diamond spinning outta controleverything everywhere soaking in a kinda freedomchuckling with the bullfrogs at a rest stopcuz none of this can be told.but yet it is - poorly transcribed - by campfire lighta happily broken man and a fifty dollar guitar


            Day turns into night and

            God ejaculates a laugh track across the northeastern Rockies

            it weaves and dances like a kinda happily forever after



            staring out the widow - Montana going by at a 100 mph

            the green dashboard lights humming old gospel tunes

            the star filled dusk cracking open a thousand cold light beers
             
            your heart like a diamond spinning outta control

            everything everywhere soaking in a kinda freedom

            chuckling with the bullfrogs at a rest stop

            cuz none of this can be told.



            but yet it is - poorly transcribed - by campfire light

            a happily broken man and a fifty dollar guitar

            25 notes Filed under:  singing, shitty poetry,.
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