Tattoos in Mayberry

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Walk, don't run, but pick up the pace
Spiral on downward
in a free fall from grace...
the rules on hustle street duly apply
hour by hour
Keep your mouth zipped shut
or die by the power.
Livin a low budget film,
by the seat of your pants,
on the fly. As cars whiz by,
their smog gets you high. They wave, they smile, 
give  a wink of the eye.
While the face they won't show us is just gettin' by..
This year's road ragers have bets on the table, making wagers.
On who, like me, with not much to do,
will be sitting on a park bench next season  next to you.
Another wily grinnin' creeper makes the grade
Still hanging on somehow from last year's 
high demolition, war of attrition cavalcade.

High Risin riders cruise by,
some gasp,and stare.
hot-roddin upon uneasy chair.
So warm, and so safe, though not unaware
Next month they could be
right back at the starting bell.
I'm still here, yes, I'm here still.
Spun under this sapphire blue, ionosphere,

The clang of the clock tower chimes on the hour
for another dead soldier who fell from the tower
Purified clean,with the pain of no sleep
It could be many days,
before a hot meal to eat..
Pushing on through hostile street,
on the  north, south, and east..
First moon, crescent, full lunar eclipse
another night we made way through their radar blips
deep undercover
Loving someone else's
dream state lover

Copyright All Rights Reserved by Author
Buddy Bee Anthony

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