Poetry, Texas

Dallas in the mirror.
Winter morning, cold as hell.
Me, and my six string,
no one else.
 
Collar to the wind,
Future in the breeze.
Hardly seems that faraway,
you know what I mean.
 
Highway 59
drove just like a dream.
Asphalt tops, yellow lines
still call me...
 
Post Office Box, Poetry, Texas
 
Wandering and working,
living off the cuff.
Some things never change
I can't get enough.
 
The train's in Kansas City.
New York's a parking lot.
You can tell where I am
by where I'm not.
 
Post Office Box, Poetry, Texas.


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