Songwriting confidential #35

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 35.

There are wild coyotes running through me,.Hawks in my brain,.Im the guy with the Sears Robuck suitcase runnin long side the train,.dont need no hourglass to check my time,,,What I ain't is some old maid man,.theres hooch in these tantric veins of rowdy eclipses and too few moons,..I won't parlay my last grand infusions of Jolly juice on some shadowed dirt road where harpies hang in the loam groves ready to pounce on the back of my neck and bone bite me when I'm getting deadly serious with Mary Magdalene,..I wont throw a saddle on my guitar,.Im a bare back rider,.ill give any Native American a run for their money hung low on the neck of a frothing cayuse racing blindly over the strings of the wooden sword in the desert of Atlantis,.Cant I scream in peace ? Is the song on my lips a derringer and not the tray of olives I picked as a gift for God today,,.cant I swim into the arms of deep grinding love anymore,.have I really been banished from OZ ?., My tumbling dreams at this hour of the mad jaguar puts a scare into the little boy still living as an orphan on the streets of uninhabited planets ,.Sundays are cruel,.they are witches disguised as holy days,.I am ratcheting up my art,.what else can save me but a melody horse to ride into the last sunset with a beautiful primitive unknown woman, her arms tight around my waist, her lips pressed into my neck....