we dreamed of going to graves
Beat graves in America
highways and hobos
boxcars and sloppy joes
conversationalists without discipline
and one goal
constantly under skies
and birds instead of alarm clocks
with freedom feet off our knees
in a growing glow of scenery
drunken banjos lost in our foolish forest
a suicide squad
itching out like city flees
only i died without moving my feet
never met freedom but deaths angels indeed
you fled
quietly and concretly
like a butterfly key
opening our dreams with simplicity
i scored one goal
not ours
but it took a hotshot at my soul
it opened me for the world to see
only a grave i might be
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