rollinboyo
Bluelighter
Strange things are coming out of Texas.
Swept in swirling with the dust and the mosquitos
strange sights and sounds and ideas
terrifying photographs and weird western sing-a-longs
that drop into your mind with a rush.
You hear the plink of blood dripping from a pen
watch it hit the surface and ripple across the page
suddenly white turns to red
and you read about an ancient massacre
from the 1840's
gleaming bayonets and painted indians.
Then fast the vision fades into a
black spinning sandstorm
a crumbling drunk in the saloon corner
mutters grimly of spanish influence.
You see empty wooden shacks
and a great big hotel with one lamp still burning
far above in the attic.
A gun shot rings in the distance
getting closer and quicker until
just as you prepare for impact
it becomes a train whistle and blows past
full of coal and grimy mexican faces.
It's gone already and you're stuck there wishing
hoping for an instant.
Then you plunge down again
you're on an open highway with the sun on your face
your hair unfurls and a smile breaks out
tears of ecstasy red white and blue slink down your face
you never thought a dream could be so real.
But just like that you box it up
and the wide open desert disappears
condensed in a mental black hole
reduced to an infinite smallness.
Texas is gone now.
Swept in swirling with the dust and the mosquitos
strange sights and sounds and ideas
terrifying photographs and weird western sing-a-longs
that drop into your mind with a rush.
You hear the plink of blood dripping from a pen
watch it hit the surface and ripple across the page
suddenly white turns to red
and you read about an ancient massacre
from the 1840's
gleaming bayonets and painted indians.
Then fast the vision fades into a
black spinning sandstorm
a crumbling drunk in the saloon corner
mutters grimly of spanish influence.
You see empty wooden shacks
and a great big hotel with one lamp still burning
far above in the attic.
A gun shot rings in the distance
getting closer and quicker until
just as you prepare for impact
it becomes a train whistle and blows past
full of coal and grimy mexican faces.
It's gone already and you're stuck there wishing
hoping for an instant.
Then you plunge down again
you're on an open highway with the sun on your face
your hair unfurls and a smile breaks out
tears of ecstasy red white and blue slink down your face
you never thought a dream could be so real.
But just like that you box it up
and the wide open desert disappears
condensed in a mental black hole
reduced to an infinite smallness.
Texas is gone now.
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