Mistress

Greetings,

Ah ha, how the word "truth" rings a bell of beings; all faceless limbs rotating toward a sun burning skin and searing eyeballs, brain sensor stimuli of pain delirium. He throws strait jackets off, refuses medication and once again for who knows how long song takes to traveling by thumb. Standing down at the crossroad words sifting through puzzles. Delightful.

We dance high in the air as a signal to others that we surrender to their whims, their passion, their choice of going on or stopping long enough for us to grab on as merry-go-round horses rear and stampeded.

We eat their dust. They go spinning past, cars, trucks, RV motor homes, living rooms on wheels. Wheel and deal. Some pass by, some stop, Stories by traveling salesmen looking for a sale. Odometer’s turning four corners leaning into Navajo and Hopi mesas, broken sunsets, shattered dreams, glorious sunrises bypass soft shoulders, yield, rest area ahead.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Easy come and easy go.”
“Was it always this easy for you, just to get up, just to go, just to be free as a bird?”

“Yes and no. I escaped abuse and tyranny. Their sadness, loss and abject suffering. I needed to get out. The highway waited. A long black road. The unknowing. The element of movement. Blank pages waiting for words. I healed through movement. She is my mistress. There is no cure for wandering.”

“Are you still sick?”
“Look hard. What do you see. What do you want to see.”
“Can you feel your eyeballs exploding from the heat?”

“I am afraid to tell you what you are afraid to hear.”

Always in a programmed circle, merry go round horses dance on shining steel shafts, oiled and greased and well lubricated by painful pleasurable sexual understanding in wide open countries without boundaries, fences, gates, impediments or ticket takers. Risk takers survived.

Peace.