Friday Dance Card

The rainy Friday highway beckons
and the shower call moans softly in my ear.
June days winding out of heaven to an earth too
green for more of the pounding rain
that has beaten it for days.

I find solace in common witchcraft, a smile
in the footfalls of lost deeds shifting in distant cabinets.
Truth hiding itself from truth, that ragamuffin with a
multiple personality disorder that always leads us astray,
or does its best to thwart the calm passage.

Its been years since I tasted dust by a roadside with
my thumb stuck downwind, or shivered T-shirt clad in
a rainstorm beside a lonesome road too long for
the end to every be found.
Chasing the magic is a game for foolish youth, or old men
with too much time on their hands.

Encumber me with obligations, wrap me in chains of doubt,
run me thought the dreamy psychic grinder behind the theater
and spew my offal at the stars.

But don't leave me hanging in the straits of Miranda,
playing mind movies at the Bijou Cerebrum,
digging for lost days with a shovel blunted on
sullen concrete.

Spit me snuff-like toward the arching rainbow, a blaze
of shiny brown whooshing Dixie sunlight.

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