The open road possesses my soul
leaning to and fro,
into and through the curves of the road.

The curves life throws.

I glide, I fly, down these thoroughfares,
these desolate highways,
back roads, and byways.

Adrift on the wind that surrounds me.

Pounds me,
fills my bones, 
with its heat,
with its cold.

With a satisfaction of freedom
I've only ever known,
on two wheels.

My motorcycle is a time machine
that transports me to years long ago.

I am ageless as I hurdle forward.

A faceless, genderless soul,
behind a visor of golden sun,
obscuring the time traveler within.

But even though you can't see me,
I can assure you I am smiling. 

And I will be until
my ride reaches its end.

We met in a bar
had a few drinks 
did it in my car.

Just casual ***, 
all it was meant to be.

but somehow it felt like something more to me.

Her name was April, 
it was an evening in May,
now it's mid September 
and in my mind she still stays.

I visit that bar every night,
hoping she'll be there,
hoping I might, get a chance to see her.

To make things right,
to resolve these conflicts
I have in my mind.
To tell her I felt something,
can we try one more time?

To tell her it didn't feel casual to me.

But apparently, 
It did to her.

I wonder how often casual ***
is really casual?

Summer in a corn field  
learning about love.

Two kids coming of age 
Under the afternoon sun.

She was warm, and wild, and willing,
I was young and hard and lean.

It wasn't exactly love
It was never meant to be.

We both went our own way, 
living our own dreams.

But sometimes when I'm sleeping 
you come back to me.

Through the corn fields of my mind,
We wander one more time.

You were warm, and wild, and willing,
I was young, and hard, and lean.

And we make love in memories,
we make love in dreams.

I wake and I wonder,
do you ever wonder of me?

Do you ever revisit the corn fields
of our childhood memories?

Do you ever wake and wonder,
Whatever became of me?

I wonder what became of you!

So the stock market crashed again
Boomer's bankrolls run dry.

Can't retire this year
can't afford to die.

They say it's only temporary
in the long run we will thrive.

But what if your long run is coming to an end.

After fifty years of hard work 
they say just begin again.

**** it up, be a man, take one for the team.

Take your SS check and move to the Philippines, 
Or maybe Tijuana where you can still afford to live.

We don't need your *** in the USA 
once you've given all you've got to give.

Self deportation may be your answer
to inflation,
Go live with the Latinos you so love to hate.

Your lifetime of savings
is such a small price to pay.

After All, it's gonna
Make America Great!!!

I fell in love with a mountain,
I worshipped her from afar.

She drew me in closer
I slept in her arms.

Gazing up into her treetops
Sleeping beneath God's stars.

The Milky Way is just a halo
My mountain wears at night.

The valley sleeps in her shadow
securely without fright.

Her protections all around.

No place on earth
I'd rather be than here.

Listening to the wind,
whistling through the air.

The smell of earth and pine
the mountain breathes,
for me to hear.

Yes, I fell in love with
a mountain, and she
doesn't even know I'm here.

She just stands in
Quiet majesty
without a care.

And in her stoic indifference
I stare up at her,

and I swear, it makes
me love her even more.

Love is not seen with the eyes,
that's attraction.

Love is not felt in a kiss,
that's reaction.

Love is not construed within the mind,
that's reason.

Love is only born in the heart,
that's believing.

And in my heart I believe.
beyond reason,
beyond reaction,
or attraction.

I believe beyond believing that I love you.

Sometimes I write poetry
most times it writes me.

Showing me things 
I need to see.

Things I need to acknowledge
to be a better man.

Not to change the world, 
but to change what I can.

Most often times
it's a change in me,
A reflection of a man 
I don't want to see.

Sometimes I write poetry,
most times it writes me.

And the more that I write
the more I'll like what I see.

And maybe someday
if I write well enough,

The man in the mirror
will smile back at me.