Bakcroad REVival

They say strait is the gate

and narrow the way,

 

But I like a twisted black tarmac, kinky –

A road that’s old and tricky,

Angles & dangles & Argentine tangos.

I fandango like Django,

Bullfighter veronicas and

Delayed apex instant gratification.

Juvenile justification.

 

A one-man revival

on a Pennzylvania bakcroad

Tryin to keep ahead of the debbil.

 

Try to flow

and go slow

to go fast.

Third into second, a whine

On the decline

No sudden moves, Jake.

Engine brake, trail brake,

A sweeper turns to a hairpin,

Too hot coming in,

I’m over the yellow.

A blind truck, I’d be dead.

Lucky this time.

 

Look through the sun-glare

Into the shadow

And twist it on.

Knee down, like as if to pray,

“Sweet Jeezus, don’t let the gravel git me”

“Lead us hot into temptation,

And deliver us some evil.”

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Sunrise on I-90

Heading East, toward fireball clouds,

Dew and darkness lifting behind me,

The Ball rotating beneath me.

 

Asphalt strap, uninterrupted

but for retreads and raccoon parts.

 

Inside my helmet I can smell

Wood smoke and singed synapses.

 

I am hungry, lean, and without sleep.

A dream coyote lopes beside me

 

To the place where you are.