i want to feel a cliched wind on a cliched open highway
to read pirsig and feel he's talking to me
i want to stop at a roadside tavern and bring my helmet in with me
to stop, on the shoulder, open my tool-bag, and solve some mechanical problem
i want to idle under an overpass and read a map while waiting out a rain
to ride past a long line of angry commuters to board the ferry
i want to meet another leather jacket, separated by a yellow line
to pass and to receive, the secret-wave
i don't need a harley or a ducati
just one i can call my own
No comments:
Post a Comment