The Wash

The Wash

The warm soak of a hot water pool, outside in a fall tourist mountain town

The echoes of the crickets tick deeply into the night

A fresh wash, a new blue bubble you,

W-

A-

S-

H.

Ashes and dust spry free of a brilliant slick flesh colored limb of 5 digits

37912 west of here, only 40 miles.

The money comes so easy, a fresh black crew cut, a set of newly laundered press

Press start to continue

So if we go forth into the autumn night,

And Seek a new blue W

Then maybe one day it’ll all be okay

Like a dog on a hilltop.

Adventure sings to me a country folk song

A drunken man yells “Git er done!” with a hearty fist jam

“Rock n roll, baby!! Woo Roll Tide!”

You’re in the wrong place, get out of here you Alabama fuck tard

I will beat your ass with a stick made out of the tree in your front yard

200 miles from here

Only 200 more to go

Gad… dangit

Time for a shot of Jack

A dagnabbit show ladies dress kicks high heels and a ruffled haircut from the 80’s

It’s okay

What decade is it again?

Tokyo 911

Has only begun

A red racing, cliff-hanging, explosion waiting to happen in a fire-highway massive

Ambulance

The jams are freelance

Too much Jack and not enough Jill

100 mph with enough force to kill

Red

As

A

Rose.

I suppose.

So I’ll take my blue with a W

Just for today, with a cool breeze through my window.

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