We have been here before
For one breathless instant,
The world hung in the balance,
Then, shrugging its shoulders,
Looked off and walked away,
Already intent on resuming
Its all too wicked ways, while
Offering up a well-meaning
Excuse for why things always
Have to be as they ever were
From time immemorial until
The very end of time, in some
Dusty, dingy future too grim
To be the product of a fevered
Imagination, too real to be less
Than the reality we create,
Lacking a belief in possibilities.
Back Roads, Ghost Towns
I miss the wide open spaces
The places between here and there
On the road again to find out
Where the white line leads.
Let me follow the back roads
Once more, thru small towns
Drifting along at a much slower speed,
With no particular place to go or be.
Blown by a wayward wind, tumbling
Across the desert to places long
Forgotten, slipping away to a past
That no one remembers any more.
Lingering over onemore cup of coffee,
In a roadside café, watching the local
Traffic move slowly by, unbothered
By the pressures of the modern world.
The places I love best are the ones
Hardest to get to, well off the beaten
Track, visited only by those others like
Me, those who love a fast fading world.
When I join history’s parade, marching
Off the way of all things, raise a glass
To me, in some local bar, with all those
Wh happen to be in town that night.
I miss the wide open spaces, fenced
Off now and bypassed by the interstate,
Lonely, dusty towns and scenic spots,
That once made America wonderful.
