I’m a solitary figure these days
Although I’m too old to play the fool
Sometimes alone, through rarely free
No longer applying someone else’s rules
Quietly dancing solo these days
Who are we supposed to be then
You disdain my attempts at life
But it wasn’t God who sainted men
Our flaws are the truest form of humanity
That which separates us from the machines
The cold, the soulless; exactly what not to be
Whether we can evolve remains to be seen
With our necks straining against the guillotine
I’ve been to the city
But I didn’t like what I saw
There’s no air to breathe
Such congestion of humanity
Infestation should be against the law
Authoritarians canvasing your timeline
Dourly grudging along in their jackboots
Manipulating digital ledgers & statements
Nothing worse than those savages in suits
No, I’ll stay here where Divinity is clear
The minor sophistications are plain to see
Occasionally sidestepping hillbilly nonsense
But at least my soul is still free
Oh, where does our journey end
Or begin, as it so often might seem
Futile attempts to erase the past
The unknown details of our dreams
The open road panders to a false escape
The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn
Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt
Debating the path; perchance to learn
Shaky prospects in apportioned time
Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac
Further roads leading to ornate wisdom
& we keep it concealed out in the back
Thoreau mocking society with his solitude
Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be
Thoughts come to us in gentle waves
That perhaps our visions should become the sea
A reinterpretation of westward expansion
Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61
All roads have never led us home
Emily tempting Death with her life left undone
The growing wisdom of our consumed space
Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues
Introducing our souls to unrefined grace
The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse
Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks
Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin
Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again
But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in
Maybe those were the days
I wasn’t so perfect, structured or neat
Rebelling against all humanity
Couldn’t tell the difference in defeat
A crooked line to follow
A wrinkled brow upon the figurehead
Our dreams fractured when applied
Lost within reality’s pragmatism instead
Captain Q 