Some Weird Kind of Freedom Don't want to get stuck in the straight jackets of the narrow place. Release me out and open, into the wild and free my aging face. I could waste worlds of unsacred unfurled scrolls of verse on fluffy clouds, riding rainbows, loving doves, and dancing unicorns playing jazz on holy horns, and whoa, baby, got to write the lines for which I was really born. I'm waving my arms like a conductor with no rhythm section, whistling out of sync and out of tune with the eight train tracks recorded one by one for the comfort of great American hobos, travelling freely flying in every miss hit single directionless, riding the notes as I'm writing my notes to no place in particular. A freeform hippie cowboy dancing buck naked in the sunset rains, find me some weird kind of freedom, oh, distract my brain, keep this sad, silly soul from feeling any more of this pain. Losing my self in every foot tap to banjos clear as water, drumming fingertips, natural poet, oh my dear sister, dear daughter. Ain't got to run away no more, dancing's what my feet are for. Don't want to sleep, just want to live in a song like nothing's wrong. I'd tip a whole haberdashery out of respect just to cross your path. You ain't got to tell me. I know it just can't last. Forget my lonesome past. People weaving in and out of time, stealing a piece of my broken heart. Well, for all the love, it ain't yours, it's mine, and I'd give it again, and again, even if I knew we'd one day part, just to see you once more, you work of art. What if life had had me sweet in the knees, striking some piano keys, unlocking my heart, setting my soul free, why can't I be…more—who is keeping score? Instead I'm rhyming my life away, away, away, ain't got nothing more to say. Fooled you, yes, oh, hey, oh, hey, fancy myself some word playing at the ocean. Playing, praying, waiting outside cause I don't belong in your word association. So when you wish upon a song, praying, asking, where it went wrong, Dream and dream and carry on, find your voice and sing songs along. The lightning bolts power plant in soil my finger tips, as the rhymes begin to drip, What is love, where is love, ain't love enough, so I keep looking up above. Is there some answer in the sky, whispering to us that we just got to try? My heart rests on the hope of seven thousand unrealized tomorrows, lying to my lips kissed by the forgetfulness of what went down some yesterdays, but when I get rowing, flowing along those mountain streams of thought, hitting the beats with a song knitting its way around my soul like a scarf. Evening hits my very soul, words they fly, years go by without saying their goodbyes. I guess it don't matter much today, just as long as my soul some how finds a way. Find a way out of here, unscrew that fear, and sail right through that ocean of tears. Set fire to the dock, cut the anchor, and sail away, never coming back.
This is a throwback poem from a previously published book. I’ll be posting throwbacks every Wednesday.
Id Biscuits is D.L. Lang's sixth poetry book. This 200 page volume contains topical poetry, autobiographical poems, spiritual poems, and story poems.