I walk downhill through the seasons
like a crawling piano line
sometimes it feels like I’m gonna burn
with the whisper of lit cigarette
and I’ll fall apart in the winter
with the wind sweeping through
from the east to the west
I’ll cast one last look at your face
try to burn it into my chest
before I tumble down the street.
Some folks were given a path
laid out like a tattoo
they will someday remove
I was given an old pair of boots
so heavy I feel them
with every step that I take
and a three-sixty horizon
each with a Promise
and a leap of faith
looking too large to take.
At night I sit
elbow perched over an ashtray
out the door I hear an old Washburn
the trees, the wind and the highway
and someday I’ll cut loose
tear off and break open
with nothing but myself
my past, and nothing to lose
pick up where I left off
so many years ago.
