Pure Poetry…. Read this, you will love it.
My fingers dangle over the steering wheel of my ’65 mustang, melodically tapping to the beat of my favorite Rolling Stones jam. Cigarette smoke lingers in front of my lips. For a brief moment the smoke dances, bidding farewell as if it were the soul of a forsaken gypsy on its way out my window before alas it vanishes into the blistering summer air of the god-forsaken Mojave Desert. I’m driving straight into a fiery sun that sits atop the horizon. My eyes are squinted into hell-harrowing slits because I forgot my damned Ray Bans at some grimy Indian reservation gas station 300 miles back.
I’m tired and worn. I think of the road I’ve traveled and I look onward, into oblivion, because the road just keeps going. It never stops. I look at the course of human history and it seems to me that when people chased dreams they…
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