Country Road

In the undertow of footsteps stirring
coming along not getting anywhere
in full fledged departure from staring
close at least too close to the fair
deceptions uttered from the mouths
of babes in the woods along the dark
country road.

I could feel it in my sore elbows
a day before the day before anyone
with a nose for it could smell it
wafting in on the carnival wind
the caravan of dog-sure dancers
along the unplanned side of the starry
country road.

This is no toll-boothed freeway
no throroughfare with lanes of lines
white and gold in futile regulation
of the inclination to stick your head
out the rolled-down passenger’s window
no interstate only a very lonely
country road.

Some times of year call for it sir
or ma’am the itch to follow all the way
to hell and back the unskirted
dirt path across the loitering of the day
over the dragged-out and uncharted
passages as indirect and magnetic as
a country road.

I was warned in words and in blood
as plain as my hand on my face
to venture not where no one did
to stand ground understandably traced
in green shades and in flagrant reds
but here I am again lost happily
humming an old song along with
my flagrantly drunk companion
the country road.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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