Folded Thought of the Day
The song persists amidst all the forgotten rhymes and abandoned
lines. Permeating through refrains of whisky daydreams.
Dimes were flipped to find a reason. And hopes were denied
before they were spoken. Velvet understandings hidden beneath
sheltered wagons, held tight against the permeating eyes of
random check points. To make a path through the forbidden
frontier. Moving from here to there. Knowing that dying
is present at every stand-still. The sky is moving through
the depths of a morning caress. Sailing to a shore of
shadow and promise...to an Eden that cleaves onto the soul
and beckons any hungry or longing idea it crosses. Dirty
roads to the promised land.
Harmonica chords blowing down lonely railroad lines. Leaning
into the wind that cries from directions that have nothing to
do with this landscape...howling a bitter truth and aligning
with the heart's bruised fear. The path is drawn in the depths
of a mother's suffering. You've bandaged the wounds and done
what you could to stop the bleeding. But the pain is what keeps
you moving. Burying the wise elders that offered stained
reflections and shattered illusions...choked words that sang
in the sweet moonlight and filled the cracked walls with
beautiful images of starlit beaches and glittering flesh.
A kingdom of majestic harmony.
Down aisles paved with righteous intent. Along lonesome highways
that patiently await the vagrant and the missing child and the
innocent bystander. Endless stretches are standing to greet
our every turn. And the wanderer on the side of the road --
the one we keep passing in dusty abandonment -- is quite possibly
the only element of chance we have to find a way across this stormy
pass. Rays of sunshine sweeping away the remaining beach-combers.
Self-contained fires holding court against the rising tide.
Flames crackling mid-air feats of defiance and casting fluid
shadows against the rocky shoreline. Dancing to the wild sounds
that travel from the peripheral void that surrounds our cozy
sphere of illumination...the worldly arena where we're acting
out another in a series of melodramatic power plays. Moving
on the border line that shimmers in hazy content...inviting
any and all to find their own meaning -- upstaging any
honest intent from these earnest pilgrims.
Hunting down a truth that only materializes in the lies of
mischievous wayfarers and on the torn corner of a faded
handbill fastened to an aging coffeehouse wall. Standing
clear and shining on tomorrow's horizon but disappearing
into thin air with every step closer. Mile after mile.
Year after year. Till you can't remember what you even
started out looking for.
Broken down by the side of the road. In the middle of
nowhere. And the bandits don't even bother dropping by
to take a look at what you've got to offer. Riding off
on scarlet wishes. Past the telephone lines that run
through this land like decaying windmills -- stitching
together the fabric with ancient strings, stretching
from shore to shore...vibrating with a stream of
consciousness. An instrument tuned to a key that dangles
beneath your neck. Playing along to the slow setting of
the sun. Dropping away. From the edge of the world.
To live another day.
~ ~ ~
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