Skull

With skull sat stationary
slumped in the seat by my side
We sit ensconced in silver steel
that now strides solidly southward

His mouth could never utter blasphemy
Utterly cast from three ways in which to be:
Quiet, calm and godly, with a wee sprinkling
of ‘holier than thou’

Unfolding now is the power somehow
stitched into fabric of our
unsung, low slung steed
Habitually clung to tarmac at speed

with a brute in the front
and a gun in his back
held by proven track record
holding no accord to things of this world

The road, the ribbon ahead unfurled
in a whirling dervish of bedeviled bedrock
and sand swept up by wedlock’s wind
and highly strung headstock pinned
to hallowed hemlock that grinned
from lingering mud

Fingers (check), toes (check) Good!
We have everything we need
to point in direction of
fortune devoid of greed and it’s trappings

Ride beside red river lapping
lusciously like rising tide
in it’s unabashed approach t’ward my coachwork
Head up, foot down; If I don’t try, it won’t work

and we’re back to square one again
Bearing down on the gun again
Staring directly into the sun again
Blindly searching for uncaring fun again

in a rain addled world of instant gratification
Stagnation stumped by growth from tree trunk
as my leaves soak up tomorrows rays
As I heave and I ho and I pull towards better days