Go West, My Favorite Grand Child, Begin Again.

I got a new suit case today,
older than me by 20 years.
Tucked verticle in the back of my closet,
it’s whispers of “west” still brush my ears.

So soon and so sudden, silent as my cars starter can be
I’ll be back home, back on the road, and I truely hope this isn’t a dream.
I’m at the point where the means don’t matter, and I couldn’t care less for the ends.
I just want that peace that comes when you leave; an old home and start over again.

I’ve wanted to be a beatnik since I knew what the word ment
and now that I do, I can.
I’ve got a long way to go before I take the first step,
But I think the road knows who I am.

My poems aren’t that good lately.
But this one’s true.
I think I’m going to leave this state again. This time with no plans, and no set destination. I’m going to change my oil, air up my tires, clean out my car, pack the trunk nice and neat, put a pillow and blanket in the back seat. And chase the sun.

I’m off to California, I’m off to California, off to California to die in a dream.