fair warning: on block island or manhattan or in missouri, we can be a little salty
And I to my motorcycleParked like the soul of the junkyardRestored, a bicycle fleshedWith power, and tore offUp Highway 106, continually Drunk on the wind in my mouth, Wringing the handlebar for speed, Wild to be wreckage forever.
Well, yes. Didn't know this one. Nice.It is Highway 101.
I believe the title of this poem is Cherrylog Road. And it's penned by The second-best American poet.The first, of course, is grown out of The Garfen State, and is probably selling out a stateside show right now.
And I to my motorcycle
ReplyDeleteParked like the soul of the junkyard
Restored, a bicycle fleshed
With power, and tore off
Up Highway 106, continually
Drunk on the wind in my mouth,
Wringing the handlebar for speed,
Wild to be wreckage forever.
Well, yes. Didn't know this one. Nice.
ReplyDeleteIt is Highway 101.
I believe the title of this poem is Cherrylog Road. And it's penned by The second-best American poet.
ReplyDeleteThe first, of course, is grown out of The Garfen State, and is probably selling out a stateside show right now.