Nothing more colorful than, a gray flannel day.
Blistering winds with more shine than a lucky penny.
A spring Nor’easter.
A gathering of the personal army.
Crossing drawn lines in soiled, slush.
Gathering all visionary perseverance into a tight bun.
The loose ends of the earth our mine to own…
Under the written gun.
As a stranger you slipped into my back pocket.
Filling the inset with tokens of good-byes.
Twenty-four hour chips turned over to years of near misses and heavy sighs!
The gravity to our kinship would never correlate on paper.
Before, the gathering, a rainbow’s pride had been just another friendship…
I had learned to hide.
An elk’s ashtray weighed down by Marlboro Reds and Camels.
A one person parade…
Playing out drunken disorderly in a public display of charades.
That is when this belligerent bond had been made.
Babies having babies for greed and doping needs.
The rebel in you, as soiled as, the dirt beneath my feet.
And, every time, I picked myself up off the ground…
Your town line is where my grime could be found.
As a strange friend you are the…Acme Staple Factory on a road that dead ends.
My best guess?
No one ever chooses to begin again.
Unless they have a stranger for a strange friend.
Things Have Changed – Bob (need I say more) Dylan
Pristine and crisp…like a second chance to catch a breath.
Traveling to far-flung acres looking for the new growth of more.
Dank darkness combined with black coffee before propping open… of the barn door.
As a young farm hand, I had chance to renew the fields.
Scrubbing for sod.
Boasting with migrant workers during a noon time meal.
In the innocence, a lifetime discovery…
tractors run but they also roll.
Choices made were all in timing the blade or the brake.
How little to know…a dry season would be all the calamity it takes.
The lack of quiet on the inside matches…
the abundance of stillness outside.
A distance of which is…long as, an accountability of the past.
I have tried the ebony asphalt of the city street.
Searched for calm in the downward glance…of a stranger’s eye.
In the empty storefronts, I could rent restraint…
I could not buy.
With all the urban decor,
it had been easy to see…
I will always be country on the inside.
“I did and I’m not ashamed to admit it!”
…
In actuality, I had been concerned about my decision…my action! Driving down to the local ‘city hall’…which doubles as a source of entertainment. Offering D list comedians and bad plays by accountants turned ‘actors’ on the weekend.
This old age Opera House during the course of banker’s hours; houses the welfare director, issuer’s of hunting licenses and persons paid by the town of Franklin, New Hampshire deemed competent enough to gather your most personal information. Voter registration, payment of fines, water and sewer late fees, etc., etc.
Franklin calls itself a city. Yet, it is a big town with overalls on.
As many of my followers, fellow bloggers and semi interested fans, know. I am as queer as a two dollar bill. Obviously, I am an artist. And, with any research, it is well known that I attempt to speak for those who feel they have no voice.
I have been a democrat all my natural born…voting life. And, though I grew up in an abusive dictatorship, my parents, both, were leftists.
Odd for me but when I arrived at the building of paying more taxes for grade 6 roads…
Odd for me to feel panic whilst climbing the granite stairs.
‘Live Free or Die…’ kept ringing through my ears. Such like, a protest you want to start…but have no cause.
“I would like to change my political affiliation. Is this where I do it?”
My shaky words piercing through spit proof Plexiglas.
Used to be not long before, I dealt with a woman who shall remain nameless and scowled at me while I gave the city all the money I had.
Currently, I had been speaking to Marie. Lovely woman in comparison to the upset city employee who shall remain nameless.
Odd, I pondered! I am literally handing over personal information, change of affiliation and various other things…to someone…who registers my moped.
This idea to change from Democrat to Independent had taken me many months to consider.
It had always been my right of passage to believe in a more ‘socially’ aware class. My resume as volunteer, delegate, knocker of doors, candidate for local office…is vast.
Yet, that has all changed.
Perhaps the only route meant believing in the middle.
Dems have been walking about with their ears back like a scolded dog…for too long.
And, the potty mouth, liberator of porn stars and his posse…are certainly the direction I wish not to go.
Both sides boasting about how they are looking to enhance the lower and middle class. Both sides playing cards without any inclination as to the life of the typical American citizen.
I am embarrassed by my government…Both local, state and federal.
What kind of sight must this country be…to those who upheld us as, liberators to the truth.
An independent is variously defined as a voter who votes for candidates on issues rather than on the basis of a political ideology or partisanship; a voter who does not have long-standing loyalty to, or identification with, a political party; a voter who does not usually vote for the same political party from election.
independentvoter.wikipedia.
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