Hitchhiker

Hitchhiker

No one wants to check out the face of the man with his thumb up at the interstate Stare at his golden arch T shirt stained with the grease smudged from the profane Assumptions of a grizzled mug, speed up before you contemplate death by offering a hug Or a ride for a Beretta in your own, a bullet through your cerebellum and a long ride home

Generally speaking no one wants to listen to the wells of the not so well off Years chained friendly fire in a civil war with one department in a one product store Who wants to buy with all the bills we all have to pay? Keep the psychiatrist couch on clearance and F off on the lay away

Employer with an ostrich head in the ground, de-friend-ed by a girl with no coffin for the soil, just a waste management dumpster full of emotional turmoil Burying up like a Tremor worm with a maw like a terror spurred from some Kevin Bacon degreed recreation, spent all my vacation days in a court room for remediation

Of a life with a skull split on a spit on the castle walls of this Indian town, tongue out and three years and this shit is not a damn bit closer to being over with, “Ha, ha, Ha,” you can see the head laugh cut out the larynx and box up the sad expression like a movement bent for re-correction watch some gamesmanship and let’s play pretend with the recollections because

The only verbal overtures are roll away stones to an empty cave with a broken door, Oh that pariah messiah spider crawled out the web, and all that is left is a sticky fingered filcher and a sign that said,

“Will work for strings, non-potato greased, a serious contemplated being, rung out flood waters in these streets.  Strung out into a life within a life for an inception of a man that has been bought out, by a faceless publicly traded corporation at your local yokel stock exchange, pay the bid premium and this slave can be acquired for daughter’s next birthday party shooting range.”

Pull up and I will even tie myself within your trunk.  I don’t even need to find a syringe; I am already off center and five feet in, repay this kindness with my head in this rain, bleed me dry in the silence of a familiar refrain, who wants to hear? Who ever wants to watch a man complain, that is all we are saying when we stare at the T-shirt stain instead of the man in the face with the vagabond gone missing name.

No body is blaming, just saying, what is wise and what is paying the insurance bill on our monthly sanity, is ignoring the bauble trinkets of the world’s collectively apportioned travesties to macro level ill pots stirred up in a one thought kill shot; somebody else or no one will pick up that man, but it won’t be me Amen, because his hands are full of poison and his eyes are full of hate and if he gets too close I’ll be sick with his pain

All self-inflicted, caused like polio and liver failure stuffed Oreo's digested each day when the man was growing up, sitting in front the television watching Bo and Luke rebel off on the run; Could leap right in, no windows pause there like an orange invitation to find away off this Indian reservation,

General Lee leaking off to Florida or Texas drive east or west and all the permeation of destination could tattoo remove these claw marks right off this chest, a new name, a new phrase, a brush off and old pains claw up in the dirt for a hitchhiker man, because no one is listening to the radio station out of range at the sixty-seventh mile marker and a thumb direction changed hands for a hermit ascetic termite burying back down into an estranged land.