Going To Old Town

by Cloyd Campfire
(around the beginning of the 21st century)


WHEN YOU TOWER
before
my
   dazzled eyes ~

Framed by such
vast &
elaborate
   desert skies ~

When you whirl thru
a thirsty kaleidoscope
into
   deep purple dreams ~

That fall thru
destiny’s hour-glass
into
   dry dusty streams ~

I know then
the time
has
   come ~

Like
an
over-ripe
    plum ~

To
qwit
playing
   dumb ~

And to
finally
suc-
  cumb ~

To the urge
to ride
into
   an eerie echo sound ~

Ricocheting
across
the worn ground
   of distant Old Town...

~~~

WHEN THE WAR
on terror
becomes a war
  against me ~

That threatens
my rights
like Bin Laden
   mean't it to be ~

When the U.S. Prez
begets
war profiteering &
   calls it democracy ~

When he says I am
either with him or
against him &
   that I'm also free ~

When houses as
balanced with nature
as clowns falling
  off a trapeeze ~

Sprout up all around
like sore thumbs
instead of
   pretty teepees ~

When I find myself
walking along
an
   avenue of yore ~

Surrounded by speed-
ing cocoons
guzzling more blood
   than the year before ~

When I find myself
gagging in an age of
oil that is race-
   ing past its peak ~

I know
I know
it's time
  to seeeeeeek ~

A bus full of poor
folks
some fresh out
   of jail ~

Headin' into the
sunset with
no future or
   wind blooming sail ~

Just
putt-puttin'
a-
  long ~

Singing
the
Old Man River
   song ~

As their proud nation
slips & slides
like
  a pig down a hill ~

Taking them with it
oh
it’s such a
   roller coaster thrill ~

Radium
level
high
  headaches throbbing ~

Lets stear this bus
by a bank
Robin Hood &
  Zorro are robbing ~

Scoop up some loot
on our way
into
   an eerie echo sound ~

That ricochets from
street to street
in not so distant
  now Old Town...

~~~

THE TOURISTS TRY TO
cool down
on their vacations
   from endless toil ~

Their goals, though,
seem cracked like
goose eggs
  too long a-boil ~

They gaze
all
a-
  round ~

As they
stroll
thru
   Old Town ~

Looking for
ghosts
but they can-
  not be seen ~

You'd think the ghosts
had fled
this
   too gaudy scene ~

You'd think the ghosts
are dead
in more
   ways than one ~

You'd think
Old Town
is really
   not too much fun ~

But it really
is
at least
   for one ~

One lucky old
shade
who mis-
   placed his gun ~

One
lone-
ly
   soooooooul ~

With
no
place else
   to gooooooo ~

Sipping a cup
o' hot coffee
while surrounded by
   an eerie echo sound ~

Here sitting at a
table upon
the sacred ground
   of old Old Town...


###




the painting way up above:

Jonathon Browser  ~  www.jonathonart.com

the painting down here below:

Douglas Johnson ~  http://obsidianmountain.net