Speedometer says 90,
on the dark back road,
West Texas desert,
wild seeds about to be sowed.

Koe Wetzel, sings on,
as the radio plays,
pull into the bar ditch,
for the next phase.

******* you and ******* me,
all I know is we're wild and free,
out on the road nothing holding us back,
just having fun, broken free from the pack.

Her bra on the mirror,
******* thrown in the floor,
blue jeans tossed out the window,
and ready for more.

Exploring each other,
like wild stallions stampede,
all of our passion is,
fast and buried.

******* you and ******* me,
all I know is we're wild and free,
out on the road nothing holding us back,
just having fun, broken free from the pack.

Jack Daniels from the bottle,
as the stars shine up outside,
we saddle up
for another quick ride.

Red and Blue lights speed by,
she gives out a gasp,
they pass on by,
I mash down the gas.

******* you and ******* me,
all I know is we're wild and free,
out on the road nothing holding us back,
just having fun, broken free from the pack.

We gather it all up,
and get out of here,
gravel flies,
as I jam it in gear.

Back on the highway,
Aaron Watson, he sings,
we drive from the sunrise,
see what this day brings.

The baggage, the pain,
some call it the monkey,
it lives on our backs,
and makes us feel funky.

The decisions weigh down,
like a ton of lead bricks,
all piled up together,
like the game pick up sticks.

If you move the wrong one,
they'll all tumble down,
buckling your knees,
sending you to the ground.

Sometimes though,
you can set them aside,
have some drinks with some friends,
or go for a ride.

These are the moments,
you pray will endure,
but they never will,
as there is no simple cure.

South Eastern New Mexico
not far from the line,
the suns coming up,
it looks so sublime.

Its golden rays,
shine down on my face,
but sometimes it seems,
I feel out of place.

This is not my home,
it's a full day away,
someday I'll return,
and for more than a day.

From where does the sun come,
it comes from my home,
rising each morning from a space nexus,
but if you ask me it just comes from Texas.

My french lime shirt,
tail flutters in the wind,
the ocean waves of teal,
continue rolling in.

The boat's spray is salty,
I taste it on my lips,
we bounce  up and down,
as we race on wave tips.

Slowing now to troll,
looking for exposed tails,
the seagulls above,
flap like winds in the sail.

Sliding in the water,
cold, causing a gasp,
a long 8 weight fly rod,
now firmly in grasp.

Bronze flashes in water,
tail shining in sun,
the bait swirls around me,
this is about to get fun.

Whipping the silver fly,
in a long backcast,
now flying forward,
landing soft and fast.

Twitch it now, ripples,
a V cuts the bay,
the hunting, tailing red,
is now on its way.

With a mighty splash,
it swallows the fly right down,
the mud is churning up,
the water turns brown.

Stripping line and reeling,
in the shining sun,
nowhere else could I be,
having so much fun.

Upon its back, we ride,
into the books of history,
all of this, it takes in stride,
for it, there is no mystery.
Slithering through the sands of time,
but of it retaining no memory,
simply drawing an unstoppable line,
continuing on to infinity.

****** wars and droughts and famine,
like the hands of a clock continues,
we like to stop and examine,
but it goes on as its muscles stretch and sinew.
Political changes and new regimes,
trapped in the past as the times fuze,
through all the ****** and the schemes
all of this it simply eschews.

Is this the worm of fate,
or simply that of time,
we can love or hate,
be just or enjoy crime.
No matter what we choose,
we ride it anyway,
to the future, we ooze,
there is no escape.

Flabbergasted FFA Fair,
dusty boots, but done up hair,
buckles gleaming in the sun,
showing is, so much fun.

Summer sweat dripping down,
pageant queen, wearing crown,
apple bottoms and popper tops,
so much to see, cannot stop.

Every age, and every size,
all of them vie for a prize,
grand champions and runners up,
like goddesses to worship.

The last remnants of blue,
spray painted orange and pink,
in stark contrast to the opposite horizon,
swirling blacks and grays, sewn together,
by golden and jagged lightning bolts.

Mud puddles ripple reflections,
as the red velvet mites search,
tiny termites swarm in the passing breeze,
following the path of the monsoon storm,
seeking out new soft earth to tunnel.

A gray horn toad sits
ringed by red ants as they struggle
to rebuild their nest in the wet dirt,
it laps them up one at a time,
with a pink sticky tongue.