The Ballad of Harlow Flick

The Ballad of Harlow Flick

I tried to grow my hair long
but lacked the proper time
laid back the Spitfire’s lid
drove out for highway nine
Number nine
Number nine...

Drove through misty mountains
deep inside the night
abandoned birthing barn
to rest from mid-life flight.
The earthy gray plank odor
sent shivers through my nerves
prayed to Jesus in the dark
heard the crickets chirp.

At dawn I revved my road tape
devoured more white line
exorcised my life rage
Hendrix howled, “If Six was Nine,”
Number nine
Number nine...

Descended to the valley town
clearly I’d come down
Wal-Mart, K-Mart,
This-Mart, That-Mart,
homogenization nation.

The factories, bars, and churches
in close proximity
for sustaining and for bleeding
interchangeably.

I felt the need for company
invaded Tony‘s Place
belted beer with earth‘s salt
they thought I was a flake.

Entered the Nightshade Bistro
sipped gin with numbers clones
they wouldn’t exchange verbiage
I had no portfolio.

Toured the Soho quarter
crazy star eyed dreamers
barely treading water
side stepping suicide
mystical visions of nine
Number nine
Number nine...

So I read about the "New Age"
I’m on a spiritual journey now
ate tofu for a while
felt a little better
Herbivorous Harlow
waiting for critical mass
to turn this back to Eden.

I plan to buy a trailer
pedal quaintness and paisley to passers
call it The Hippie Hide-a-way
out on highway nine
Number nine
Number nine...

Re-ritualize death, so somber
please make mine a party
burn me, make me crackle
shower, pop, and sparkle.
Toast marshmallows on my embers.

A blue tunnel of light
will take me to the afterlife
float around all day
on cloud nine
Number nine
Number nine...