The mystical, mythical, mid-life flight of our hero, Harlow Flick! |
The Ballad of Harlow Flick I tried to grow my hair long but lacked the proper time laid back the Spitfire’s lid drove out for highway nine Number nine Number nine... Drove through misty mountains deep inside the night abandoned birthing barn to rest from mid-life flight. The earthy gray plank odor sent shivers through my nerves prayed to Jesus in the dark heard the crickets chirp. At dawn I revved my road tape devoured more white line exorcised my life rage Hendrix howled, “If Six was Nine,” Number nine Number nine... Descended to the valley town clearly I’d come down Wal-Mart, K-Mart, This-Mart, That-Mart, homogenization nation. The factories, bars, and churches in close proximity for sustaining and for bleeding interchangeably. I felt the need for company invaded Tony‘s Place belted beer with earth‘s salt they thought I was a flake. Entered the Nightshade Bistro sipped gin with numbers clones they wouldn’t exchange verbiage I had no portfolio. Toured the Soho quarter crazy star eyed dreamers barely treading water side stepping suicide mystical visions of nine Number nine Number nine... So I read about the "New Age" I’m on a spiritual journey now ate tofu for a while felt a little better Herbivorous Harlow waiting for critical mass to turn this back to Eden. I plan to buy a trailer pedal quaintness and paisley to passers call it The Hippie Hide-a-way out on highway nine Number nine Number nine... Re-ritualize death, so somber please make mine a party burn me, make me crackle shower, pop, and sparkle. Toast marshmallows on my embers. A blue tunnel of light will take me to the afterlife float around all day on cloud nine Number nine Number nine... |