Is Freedom

Lit rhythms chide the embrace of my day
As the hang gliding heat beats my pavement feet.

Never could care to ease the sojourner’s way,
Only had me a little of something to say.

Sweat from my brow, hot like a sting
Drips slowly down and dies on the street.

Don’t feel like singing—got too many songs,
Only got me a yearning that moves me along.

Strip malls like ugly tombs stain my earth womb
As I strip to the waist in the absence of taste.

Maybe I’ll get back on that old stage
If maiden insanity fires that old rage.

Fuck taste, I feel myself say,
As I rip off my pants
And illusions fade.

Maybe I’ll sing and maybe I’ll dance
If I feel my affection for Goodman Chance.

I chuck my socks too,
Say “fuck you”
To my shoes.

I’ve got me a passion and it will collide
With my nature and status before they both die.

I’m back to the world now
—the way it was meant—
but the cops and the store clerks
Aren’t.

I’ve got me a problem; it lands me in jail.
I try to be free, but I always fail.