Sunday, August 19, 2007

Roadkill Billie Black and the Blues

Black and blue and dead by rights;
The whole night long by highway,
each mile marked by a sign on
the side, by the golden rod swaying,
shredded tires, broken roadkill,
bill boards for food and beer,
lodging, gas, and dry goods
signs telling me there's better places
to be

telling me

the next shit shingler
is only fifteen more miles!

and that sounds better than
any fast food or coffin bedroom
at the motel six, any kind of
find yourself alone haunt

painted black and blue
in a bottle
drifting; living and already dead

Passing the shitty shingle now;
the world's finest, all signs say,
just a spot behind me in the mirror

as I eat the miles,
live on broken yellow painted lines,
falling rocks and exhaust fumes

black and blue the night through
a curve with the headlights off
over death valley

black and blue
the car stalls and I walk
before the sun comes up

alone in death valley tonight
but I'm almost there with you
feeling black and blue

the whole night through

28 comments: said...

Gee, I almost laid a clanger on you by first wanting to say road trips are a gas.
I have found, while driving through the States that truck stops were the best: you met everybody and your really got a feel for the country through the characters that you met.
Sort of a Kerouakian mindscape.

Also the songs on the radio that reminded you of her.


Susan Miller said...

And wadayano, I've got Blue and Black belting out on my media player right now. Take a ride with me, the beaten path, down a dirt road, onto a gravel drive to a house of old and new where friends meet to lick their wounds.

As always, I feel connected here.

Oceanshaman said...

Long car rides . . . ouch . . .

at night . . . ouchier . . .

Jonesin' for the one you love . . . ouchier still . . .

I feel your ouch . . .

singleton said...

"but I'm almost there with you
feeling black and blue"

i kicked the tires and nothing
happened, but the radio clanked on...
and I left it rattling out,
tincan hauntings
in the dark
but I never turned around

And I'm wearing blue mascara....

Enemy of the Republic said...

Good work here, Eric. Were you not sleeping? The muse hits us at odd hours. I plan on sending Barb some poems soon.

Edyta said...

Thats what i call photographical poetry. I sorta read it & i have a pretty detailed picture-vision of ur words in my head-mind.

"any kind of
find yourself alone haunt"
i love these words. i can relate to them may haps.
it's not the ghosts who haunt us. just we haunt ourselves.

shit! i was thinking aloud again! my thoughts slip out sometimes, ya know?
well, i loved this piece. it is meaningful & photographical, as i mentioned before. at least to me it is :)

neko said...

so lonely.. so lonely..

i find some loud metal makes driving time diminish..

if i may - a request, if you'd indulge me..?

when/if you have a moment, to dedicate a poem to me - and tho it may not be your thing =>

make it rhyme!

accept my challenge, sir? ^_^

karma lennon said...

Lonely, very lonely. Feels like running away, thought of this often. Reminds me of "Dharma Bums"........

SpongyBones said...

Wait till you hit the roads in Arkansas hit the brakes and lots of "strange" women and men to run from ...

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...


Nightime debris.

Always more mysterious than the daytime flotsam - discarded by litterbugs who have not the luxury to disappear into the darkness unchallenged.

captain corky said...

Nothing is more worse than trying to battle the sun rise when your exhausted.

Behind Blue Eyes said...

The midwest? Or the Southwest? Or both?

Pythia3 said...

Driving during the darkest of hours down the scantest of roads with our only companions - the crackling of out-of-reach radio stations, the stars and other things in the sky, the stories (and horrors) of our childhood, visions of our destination, dreams we forgot about, apparitions of elephants crossing the road . . . and the Self.
Road trips are like labyrinths to our soul . . . sometimes taking a detour through hell.
Beautifully expressed - I was in the car - still am - bye:)

Lynn said...

Road trips ARE the best because we are at once disconnected from our habits and quickly learn what a freakin burden habits are.

I was born in the same town as Kerouac so I guess there is something in the water.

I dont know why but I dont feel right commenting on poetry in this way sometimes. Sometimes we take it as it is, and this medium forces an opinion when sometimes we are just reading. Hearing.


the walking man said...

Night travel with the stars;you, your machine, the coolness of the air and most of the truckers parked on the side of the road engine running and cab and trailer lights on getting in their mandatory rest. the occasional pair of headlights coming at your or upon you.

Solitude gets no netter than this.



eric313 said...

Road trips are inspiration layed out in the best fashion, no matter the destination.

And the ever present sound tracks that que our memory into action, and vice versa. That's it; I just put on 'In Through the Out Door'--Zeplin being a prominent part of that vital music of beautiful memories. Thanks for the visit.
peace out

Susan Miller
Glad to see you here again. I hope you find the threads more colorful than ever. Your own writing, as well as mine.

This place is quite the gathering spot. I'm glad for that. It's been a busy august for me, and looks like I'm going to MSU, which will cost a fortune, but why not do today what I can borrow for now and not pay for many tomorrows to come--but pay dearly for and forever, paying and reaping rewards and paying more.

Rock and roll over and over til
the end and the light drops.
At least I've got my boots on.

Just like that, as alone as anyone anywhere, but I still have my image of the face that launched my ship to sail.

Peace eo

eric313 said...

Peace out, I meant. Thanks for bearing with me, everyone. Been busy with a whole lot of musical chairs lately.


..the running wild blue lines
only deepen the conspiracy...

a oneway road through the desert
cactus highway by moonshine

the tin can musings sing to me:
"it's nobody's fault but mine"

And no truer words were ever
given breath
not by mouth or tin can rattle
in a death valley nighttime scene

but I still want to blame it
all on the car...

I'm walking past the borrows of horny toads
and roadrunners
and tumble weeds doing their thing

and happy to spare the love
an accusation of guilt

a luxury I once had...

a million years ago.

Enemy of the Republic(ans)

I think I'll sit back and read what Barb hangs up on the walls at A Poet's Corner. I'll send somethng soon, but I enjoy all the artists gathered there. I predicted a while back to Barb that a renaisance was going to bloom right there in her garden.

Glad to be right once in a while! springtime eternal for poet's and their winding words and charms channeling the oldest magic, our mind's vast remote reaches and the enchantments, passions and designs that originate from there.

eric313 said...

Yes! That is what I go for, attempting to paint a picture. If it's lame for me and I can't visualize it, it's a no-go. Not gonna happen.

This was really great. And it's totally cool for you to think out loud here! And write about it, too. It's a big part of what makes you original!

Peace out, and thanks for the visit.


I accept this challege
offered from a friend,
Something quick and witty
that begins beyond the end.

I only ask you one thing
all I need is some time
for I have to take a few steps back
you know--

to learn how to rhyme

and still let the meanings stack
all lined up in a row
it ain't ever easy to stop on a dime
on a wild throw.

(this one won't count, it's just practice!)

eric313 said...

Karma Lennon
Is this what Dharma Bums is about? Awesome! I'll check itt out. I liked on the road, but was too young to appreciate it.

One that this reminded me of was
Drum roll...
"All My Friends Are Going To Be Strangers"
by Larry McMurtry
a beautiful, hilarious and deep novel of a writer on the run, and a quick read at that. He has so much experience with show business and hollywood and the promises made to artists and how none of them solve the basic desires that an artist sought in the first place.

And about a lot more. Tlak to you later, Karma.

I won't actually be going there right now--but I will work my ace off there next summer. Two to three hundred a day is hard to sneaze at, even if it's just doing windows. But I bet that asphault is blazing hot, even at three in the morning.

And nobody out but the damn tweakers looking to steal the nickles out of a dead man's eyes...

Ultra Toast Mosha God

You aren't kidding. This country is huge and there are so many far flung remote places. But everywhere you can possibly go, you will find potato chip wrappers and various plastic containers and shards of brown glass from beer bottles. Or the people cleaning them up, which there isn't enough of--in the north.

down south, they still make convicts perform civic tasks like litter clean-up at parks and along highways. And why not? Tax payers are paying for each convicts man hours, why not harness the sheer power of vast amounts of time, such as can only be found in prison. Besides, it helps them pass the days, too.

Don't know how I got on that...

It's all good. Peace out, everyone.

Blancodeviosa said...

you write with such passion. truly amazing!
i love how you reach into yourself and express your thoughts, dreams, and desires in such a poetic way.

i am truly envious..

todays word verification-
loosb- a wanton substitute for a sick whore

eric313 said...

Captian Corky

That is a poigniant statement and a half. You should write a poem with it, no doubt. Send it to Barb!

Thanks for the visit
I'll see you soon while the dust settles.

Very much any road; I did visualize the desert at night, but the Death Valley part really is just about anywhere at night along the roads, loosing track of thought time and even our thoughts, whether driving or only a passenger.

And important distinction and glad you got it. It's multi regional.

Peace out, friend.

You got it. When faced with the darkness and nowhere else to go, we confront it more often, playing out scenes we wouldn't always think about. And sometimes what we don't want to remember.

Thanks for the visit, I'll see you soon.

eric313 said...

Road trips are good for everyone.
Exactly. We have to live outside of our comfort zones, and live life as it comes--literally!

And you don't have to comment, there are lots of peoople here that sometimes just let it breath, like you said. It's all good, and I'll see you at your blog, it's all good.

The machine and the man do become one, since it's so hypnotic. And to a point that you don't even think about that at all, you just are, mon the road, thinking about what you've seen behind you so much more than what's in front of you, and other cars and bends in the road are all seen perfectly, all driven around or dodged or passed by, and all without breaking the silent spell.

Except maybe some tunes.


Thank you so much for the boost. If I was feeling shitty, i was just hosed down.

And it's a passion, for sure. Like many others we know. We just can't help but try to find things to make us want to write, to reach out or inward or both.

Thanks for the compliment. I'll see you around, soon. Peace!

benjibopper said...

6 oclock news from the frontseat.

david mcmahon said...

Nice one, Eric,

``Live on broken yellow painted lines'' - that's very evocative.

psycho-therapist said...

lovely and dark- my favorite flavors.
i look forward to reading more of your work.

neko said...

heh heh, nice one!


your words are true.
nothing easy about creating imagery through rhyme.
i look forward nonetheless.

Princess Pointful said...

I think this poem may have given me a taste of something I only know through other people's eyes...

eric1313 said...

Better to view it from the seat than from right in it's face.

Thanks! I loved that line too, when I wrote it.

SOme more time, please, but soon, very soon.

Glad you enjoyed this one. It was fun to write it. Hope you're well, friend.

Peace out, my friends...