the Last Resort

‘Cause there is no new frontier…

We have got to make it here!

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You call some place paradise…

kiss it goodbye.’

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broken bits of a song…

every time I’ve heard it sung…

there is no admittance for my wrongs.

even in the midst of a rural confession

good time notions are interrupted by the footprints I have left on the ground

I am ignorant in the dirt… of any lesson

On the Right Path…offbeat

If my Higher Power came to me, many nightfall’s ago, and said…

‘You, now you are a gypsy!’

Would I have built a response?

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A life well spent will question all knowledge, not worship it.

Would I have shaken the salted, sweat from a brow…

Cleared a throat and responded with…

‘No, that is not what I want!’

Or, as I often query…had the convention of conventional…already given away my seat…

years ago.

Offered it up to menacingly clean travels and permanent regulations of…

standard manners in which to be.

As honest beckons the spirit animal in me…

irregular and offbeat appears to be my welcomed disease.