it’s we
in the editorial sense only
you understand
do you understand
of deciding long ago
to seek solace and refuge far beyond
the red, white and bloated barriers
of a dairy queen door to venture lost
and alone far from the reaches of IRS and CIA
to establish a new life in the farthest reaches
of a distant land, stooping only to touch the earth,
running merely to fill and feel —
lungs expanding and bursting under sea-level loveliness —
live along the Rio Grande — harbored in a hermit’s cave
far above the meandering muddy madness —
watching in wry amusement as occasional rafts drift below —
sneezing at pepper and his coolies as they follow the same paths,
board and aboard, excited, delighted, following the same pathos —
gazing in the blaze of a far West Texas sun on Mexican land.
Rabbit habits, snake breaks, winds in the cliffs. Scaling rocks,
washing socks, which are never worn.
Scorn.

Letting time and place ease away all that was —
replacing with something more, new feelings,
firm emotions based on the sky and the water, the birds and cliffs —
flora and fauna
neverending displays of typical days
tempered with a well-oiled clock —
a timex climax to smog-fogged haze
and bittersweet craze of insane people.
too few and not enough or too much.
overdone and awash once more in their own sense of madness.
never to dock, never to find the gentle stablilizing influence
of a quiet harbor and quiet people who wear their thoughts
long and wits keenly.
searching for others.
a coming and going, of dust storms, never snowing, tropical clime
and preconceived rhymes. just sumthin ah thunk up outa my haid. yup.
leaving only sporadically and a lot intervals
to venture inland, seeking heights greater, peaks sharper,
thoughs more defined, never lost, somewhere in an undending flow
of rocky mountain clouds.
Hermits of the world unite.
band together in separate ways.
let your unions dissolve, your creeds resolve.
melding into internal force, of no recourse.
stunning and punning adept and daff.
to laugh — unceasingly but quietly
and yourselves and myself — off the shelf once more

on the road
on the road
on the road

inroads, byroads, big roads, little roads, horny toads, highways, byways, skyways, my ways —
or nothing. turnpikes, frat pikes, eskimo pi(k)es. haha
moving, scooting, rolling, bowling, running, walking, hiking, riding, driving, plowing, plummeting,
searching, trucking, traveling, transcending, descending, traversing, rehearsing, gating, striding,
sliding, skidding, hitching, snitching, skating, flying, trying, sauntering, ambling, rambling, scrambling,
scooting, booting, moving, bearing, sailing flailing, mailing, bailing, paddling, rattling, sprattling, squeaking, creaking, pedaling, stalking, balking, pounding, hounding, rounding, grounding, taxiing, busing, hoping, mopping, slopping, sloping, moping, doping, throwupping, falling, crawling, balling, graveling, toppling, blowing, going, slowing, speeding, fleeting, beating hasty retreats into the distant horizons. following rainbows down new mexican mountain trails.

pursuing sunsets across west texas oil lands.
following the sun over mountain tops.
pitting spirit against caution.
caution against insanity.
intrepidly traveling the high roads of the world.
and back again.
austin to boston great american tours.
mountain trail travels.
rafting the rio grande.
hermits of the world, it’s time to see what it’s all about, alfie.
time to hit the road.
adventure lays over the nearest rise
death on the highway
dps radar
abc radio mystery shows
a frantic drive
over and over again
hiking under the stars
over and over again
endless jogs
over and over again
isn’t this what it’s all about
The Great American Adventure —
somewhere on the road
20 — a ’54-model american boy
4 — a ’71-model japanese jeep
the story of a boy and the jeep who tolerated him

on the road
in search of something
themselves through others
others through themselves
people and places
everyman’s story
isn’t that what it’s all about
i mean, really
thus and such
wandering and wondering
the odyssey begins

Odyssey 1
May 19-12, 1975
the great angelo to georgetown to austin to san antonio to fredericksburg to llano and back again trek.
by way of ballinger.
by way of explanation and uncharted hearts
that plumb the depths of roads and rogues.
speaking of weather alerts and great churning clouds
somewhere east of paint rock
just over the great divide. downriver concho.

of a rattling jeep and lack of sleep
from staying awake all night in wait
of a dawn that never broke,
shimmering and unobtrusive.

— rick smith, 1975

—

now is the time to bail out.
cease this madness which is not madness at all but merely
the most soul-destroying form of anything known to anyone.
go west.
the answer probably doesn’t lie somewhere slightly south of the davis mountains.
but it might be the place to start the search.
now.
while you still remember what you once almost were.
and could still be.
if you must find yourself in order to lose yourself, then do so.
quickly and without further contemplation.
move fast & far.
discover the hidden recesses of your mind.
the unchallenged limits of your body.
let your imagination flow.
deeply and without dams.
think.
thoughts that have never been thought before and might never be thought again.
be.
whatever it is you had always intended to be, but just never had time.
survive.
it’s not the same as existing.
live.
isn’t it obvious.
or is the obvious so subtle and threadbare
and hidden.
that we never really notice.
isn’t it a pity.
it indeed is.
but doesn’t have to be
if you do something about it
now
bail out.
fast.