Road, Again

[mnaz]

Back country, deserts, corn fields,
back fields in motion, two lane roulette,
drunken pickups weaving a county away,
country sway, cow lands dotted with beef,
grazing edges of peaks, power pole pickets
as far as you can see, a great between! but in
town the talk was of war, so you refused to
report, like reporters long ago covered and
diluted horrors, the greatness of the road,
it pulled you on and sometimes it failed,
but never messed with it's own religion, so
you went, no choice, and came out if you
got lucky with a poem or two, and it was the
same in 344, or 1144 or 1544, and fuck the
angel-kneed pacifists, gotta make a stand,
a little armor for the road, be ready to hunt,
because it don't come from a supermarket.
Sometimes you can't tell how serious they
are about conquering the world, or fighting
it off, so many platitudes and weapons,
and around any big crater religion forms,
reformed visionaries and the next soldiers.
Hemingway could do anything his characters
did, but why didn't he imagine a little more?
like rogue poets sipping from gasoline jugs.
On the road between lines and points it was
cows and more cows, scrub and dust and
light and silence and wind, and you
hadn't gotten there yet.

[the mingo]

and more cows, scrub and dust and
light and silence and wind, and you
hadn't gotten there yet.

I never wanted a destination. Only wanted the road. The one destination that we all share will find us soon enough.

Enjoyed, mnaz - moving on

[mnaz]

That's pretty much it. Thanks. Banged this one out from a bunch of my old scribbled notes that I found. I meant to mix them into some sort of a "cut-up," but it kinda got lost, or maybe that was kinda the point. Kinda scratchin my head...