(dedicated to my best pals Eric Beekman and his babe Crissy)
I was speeding away from the cops
(unjustly accused of groping a bratty girl
in a tex-mex cantina)
without an instant to throw on my glasses
I made it a ways on the highway
dodging semis and metal rails
but I spear-headed the latter
and in an instantaneous bizzarity
found myself unharmed in Klamath Lake muck
(my ol Taurus totaled and floating away)
I crawled my way up and lazily reclined on a metal pipe
dazed beyond the beyonds
(my long hair blowing in the soft Fall wind)
soon it seemed an hour might have passed
and I realized that my armagedon had passed unnoticed
(the law was nowhere to be seen)
so,
in a careful frenzy,
I dashed my way across the highway
and through the short weeds
(past the junior high football field)
past the ice-cream shop I never go to
past my friend Aaron's bookstore,
thus confusing some well-dressed dawdlers
(a spectacled, grey-bearded man
and two ladies of whom I perceived only
their bourgeious pretensiousness):
they weren't sure what to make of my algae soaked clothes,
bestial stride and shining eyes
and there I was,
wretched,
headed nowhere I could count on anything.
Was I miserable?
no, the essence was liberating...
something like the French Revolution.
I woke up beneath the tireless ceiling fan
(the aching in my joints greatly subsided)
and made espresso out of excellent Sumatran beans,
enjoyed a few live numbers by the counting crows,
but,
(sipping by my potent mocha)
I felt like the sublime creation known as Nirvana: "Bleach"
for reasons irrelevant to explanation,
(rocking back and forth to the soul-felt chords)
like why Jan loved the Monkey Man,
I put this ragged dream to words
