The Carnival – Airplane Mahogany: Reprise



Airplane Mahogany
come riding down
while sunset strips of Fellaheen gold
laced the crystal peak mountains
with countless horizons
of woe.

We sat in the back
of my new pickup roadster
and knocked the gear shift out of whack;
while the alcoholic blare of the AM band
blew holes in my eardrums and splintered and cracked
the bottoms of my new two-toned shoes.

And Glory! Cried Orly
the Greek from the Geek Show,
as though tied to my ribbons; Don’t you know,
somebody’s got to believe; In what? Said I;

and lied to the sky,
tho’ it knew my intentions,
it wasn’t that sure who I was.
Nothin’ doin’! said Chewin’ The Fat;
as we sat in the back
of my new Ford pickup roadster.

And Golly! Said Wally,
Don’t stall anymore;
Why don’t you write them your song?
When along came a flare! From who knows where?
And shattered my brand new windshield!

Crack! Splash! Sprinkled glass—

And that was the last I heard
Of Wally, Orly or Chewin’ The Fat; as we sat in the back
of my new Ford pickup roadster.

And now, Airplane Mahogany
don’t shine like it used to;
it glitters like gold from the five-and-ten store.
And no one will meet me in the back anymore;
when I come with a scoreboard of chances;
and try to tell them the score.

And sometimes
I hear footsteps behind me and look
for Wally and Orly and Chewin’ The Fat;
but that don’t seem like a likely experience,
they’ll never be back this way again.


And Airplane Mahogany
don’t shine like it used to;
Airplane Mahogany don’t sparkle like wine;
and Airplane Mahogany no longer sparkles
my mind.


On the Road to Satori – The Ru’nes of the Colorado

route 66 by mezaka

the End of the Dream…

we rode underneath a fire-red sun
the heat waves rose beneath our wheels
the desert was hot and dry as we drove
in our dusty automobile

the sun ricocheted into the horizon
and oblivion
the air crackled dry with sagebrush and a sky
squashed by the burning sun

we rode the desert in search of satori
but ended our quest
with roast beef on rye and beer to quench our thirst
as we made our way West from one roadhouse to the next

five hundred horses
pull our wagon through the dunes

leave no fear of dying as we drive
through the canyons and the ru’nes

palm treed groves like Eden
welcome you to Los Angeles
they are a relief
from the desert and the grief
across the burning desert sands
and the desecrated Indian lands

now we sit
back tip tequilas
on San Pedro Bay

we followed the sunset
from the east coast to the sea
and watched it fall away

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