your love comes in Morse code,
a tarped load,
one shoe on the side of the road,
tossing and turning,
while memories are burning,
out of the comfort zone to begin learning,
stretching,
fretting,
sometimes regretting,
a meditation on forgetting,
how do we live in these times without letting ourselves get pounded,
by the beats of an eager heart,
draped over a rusty motor,
forever pumping blood to the flesh,
on the bones of the Toploader.
2 comments:
Toploader -- luxurious lyrics that could fill out a meaty track on a Judas Priest album. Don't think Halford would be that introspective, though.
I remember a similar moment when Pancake was collecting beer bottle off his lawn - wearing cowboy boots and hat, unbuttoned shirt, and underwear. There is a story and poem in there somewhere.
Toploader is an exploder.
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