Friday, May 16, 2008


Riding in the rain
trying to make things, the same
forever, as they once were
And almost succeeding,
then maybe we did

Four brothers on the road
Talking, nonsense to each other
understanding, maybe, a little
of the storm that surrounds us
then, and forever

The storm clouds in the sky
and, the tempest, of our lives
forgotten for the moment
of laughter and pretzels
Kids, and our music

Long straight barren roads
On islands, with nothing but sand
and seagulls and a lighthouse

(cliff?/joe, 1971)

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