Monday, October 6, 2008

Breathe Life Smoke.

The road snakes its way past the farm house

Where the red barn

Brown cow

Pigs cat dog

Hauls the hay

And picks at the pantry

The old lady

Bent over

Sizzle, the eggs

Hard work

Bad back

As the smell of the cowboy

Spooks the lonesome traveler

As the black car

Smoke fumes

Escapes the pipe, coughing

The hitchhiking vagabond who doesn't believe

In you me them or god

Smokes his joint as the horse watches him

Black eyes


And the sweat rolls off the labourer as the hobo

Hums and strums and licks

And spits at his harmonica

Everyone's watching

Through a window we call our eyes.

It's a slow day

Mist and moon

There's no time for thinking or waiting

The road snakes its way down

Horizon swallows it up

It doesn't matter

Where it goes

Promises kept unkept

And lies like the spider

This web beautiful

But traps unsuspectfully