I feel it sometimes
driving through the backwoods
of Georgia
along narrow winding roads
patrolled by tall solemn trees,
and no lights for miles...

praying my tires hold up,
that the thermostat stays cool...

this is no place for a *****
to get lost,
or stuck,
and this *****
doesn't need a history
lesson to know
what I feel
in my shango bones...

and yesterday I saw it
screaming in black
from an off-white wall
at a pit stop in Macon:

" I hate n#&&@rs
  let's killem all..."

and I started packing mentally,
stacking the frost bite,
hustle and rat race
that chased me down
south
in the first place

back into my duffel bag...

I had a train to catch

~ P (Pablo)
(7/27/2013)