Step aboard and ride,
take the safety off your gun and blow.
breezing…
gliding your hand through the stale hot air
out the window.
smell the faint smell of burning motor oil and ride…
See the towns, dusty minds around the rancid taverns, drugstores,
and ice cream shops, rusty trucks, oiled tigers, unicorns, and Velvet Elvis’
See the cousinfuckers mime the Rockwellian dullness…
Step aboard and ride…
Ride! To nowheres consciousness,
See the mirages dance around the rattlesnakes
and the Mexican fruitstands
Take the safety off your gun and blow into the empty, dingy skyline.
See the picket fences turn into telephone polls
like souls stuck in tombstones.
See the wide spaces and the rotting old tractors
dead, left behind
like the rapture taught in the hallowed halls, of the hallowed halls
of the Baptist antichrist.
Take the safety off your gun and blow.
Go as if you have no mortal coil
out of mind, take a ride man run…
Run! Away from the Devil just behind
feel his encroaching hand and breath on your spine…
Don’t worry him man just ride.
Hear the gurgling as he swallows all you’ve passed and past..Take a ride…
To the gravitational pull of hopes and dreams,
into the archipelago of light matter
through the magnetism of spontaneous passion.
Take the safety off your gun and blow
into the virtue as she looks back at you.
Take a ride, along the curve of her back
stabbing and plowing her blooming fields
go man you’ll never get this shot again….
Take the safety off your gun and blow…
Blow…
Blow…
Turn me loose man I’m not your enemy,
I’m a voyeur here to see this savage rite of summer,
I don’t want to be you, I only want to see you…
Throw your wheat about under the celestial bonfire,
dance in the hot air like a Roma temptress.
Take the safety off your gun and blow,
leave her in the solace of the motel room and ride.
Ride…
Man take a ride… Into the Pacific oblivion…
stake your stand in the field and scream,
as the sea air legions fight the stale hot country breeze…
Find your savior in the milk and honey,
of the American golden shower of Reagan
Trickling down…
through the worn safety net of FDR
Find the flowers the flower children threw – away…
Stick your hand out the window, feel the artificial wind and ride…
ride into the southland,
where the mentality withers,
ride into the southland,
where the pitchforks stab the baked clay,
ride into the southland,
where jazz in crypto is not even a memory,
where they revoked your pass to humanity,
the southland…
snake oil barkers and monotone crooners bitter,boring
where all that’s truly admired sits in the coffers
from the collections plates of the Baptist church.
Where Walt Whitman and more lay, undisturbed
in mausoleums once called libraries,
take a ride… Don’t go home but come here no more…
Take the safety off your gun and blow…
Blow…
Blow…