Coyote Mercury

words, birds and whatever else by James Brush

For Gasoline

Her name was Gasoline;
she was my goddess.

I chased her down highways
and through years.

Driven mad by her
perfume and shimmer,

her invitation to ride,
whispers of adventure.

She ran me a twisted road
to strange cities until

somewhere in the traffic,
the heat of endless delay,

I stopped
and forgot the road.

But she’s still out there and
though her name is cursed,

she still smells like freedom
and wild younger days.

7 Comments

  1. Alas, yes, “she still smells like freedom.” A good one, James.

  2. Yeah, this is a keeper.

  3. This makes me think of my motorcycle, and days of wasted afternoons going nowhere except in a circle of solace and quiet joy.

    It sings, James.

  4. An intoxicating and volatile mistress. :)

  5. Yup. I knew her well. I like the anthem, the acknowledgement. The love-lust.

  6. Nice one, James; great rhythm and images.

  7. Thanks, everyone, I appreciate your kind words about this one.

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