the best

Posted: October 17, 2008 in Poetry

The best songs often don’t rhyme;
they plod along the dirt road and
stumble over the boulders; the
engines flood over and everyone
sits on the edge of the road, thumbing
for a quick lift back to inspiration.

The sun drips and trickles on their heads,
stains their shirts, and makes sitting an
eternity of threadbare seasons and
erosion; memories tangle in tumbleweeds
until everyone feels ready to push along,
to get rolling again, to straddle the horizon.

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