Five a.m. Freedom
the blankets of snow have now covered sunny days;
I - me - the memories,
when roadside flowers bloomed like love,
and all that crossed between these eyes
was all that I was thinking of.
Drifting down deserted, country roads
singing in a jet, black, freedom cart;
a tiny speck, cruising this part of the universe
at smooth, ride-engineered, speeds.
I check my pulse and smile widely,
I'm happy to still be alive
the pits that tried to steal my life
are cheated and the heart still thrives.
Make me an offer to drive.
I say, "I'll take you anyplace you like."
I'll hit that country highway, wild;
and be that maniac, reviled.
Flying over one lane bridges
soaked with early morning dew.
Undercarriage scrapes the pavement
sparking under blue, full, moon.
With a diamond-grin, full bloom
I hold a beer and turn to you
twist the cap and toss it gently
out in to the nights vacuum.
Sweet delay - we beat the day
my souls' delight, to beat the night
and sing with all the morning glory
of a soldier lost in flight...
park the car to get some sleep
to sit and gather thoughts to write
to please the pen that rests in hands
of lonely men who just; open.
Men who don't grab guns, to speak
and shoot the life from things that breathe
to prove that we are 'man'; supreme,
and hang dead beasts from front yard trees.
No, I do not need any of these
the wind is moist and whiskey sweet
and rolls from off my tongue with ease
to say, "I've seen a couple things".
...early morning gun-shot rings
to scatter all the sleeping things
and make them wary to the men
who hunt their homes for heads to bring.
and in a clearing stumbles through,
a vision, my own stumbling drew;
of such beast, with such a wound
whose bloody mouth, hung so confused...
and what's a poor, lost drunk to do
for such a poor, lost soul in bloom
as men converge to execute
a spirit that would care for you.
start the freedom cart and drift
and see the startled hunters shift
but it's too late, I've hit the switch
and plow right through the thick of it!
Scatter guns and men and pride
and throw them each to every side
and on the hood my trophy rides
to someplace safe, to end it's life.
Swigging all this reckless life
I'm reaching out my hand to life
to see if it will shake me right
and bring me back into the light.
Brian McKeon ©1999
E-mail: mckeonb@kpgraphics.com
