the cold winter rains came

the flowers wilted and died

on dirty floors in cheap flops

lit only by candles

handy for melting poison into liquid

“hey, brother, can you spare a dime bag?”

feeling good wasn’t enough anymore

mash that pedal to the floor

speed into the twilight zone

where anything is possible

isn’t it?

free love

free life

free children

named Mystik

or Cheyenne

or, … you know

something cool

another generation

and things aren’t working out so well

the world has shrunk

there are bills to pay

mouths to feed

something went wrong

not our fault

it is them

they have taken our dreams

painted over the beautiful colors

with things we don’t understand

stop confusing me with reality

whose side are you on?

like the muddle-headed saints of yore

they rage

their many vectored selves

moved hither and yon

by forces they don’t understand

Copyright Michael Douglas Scott