Poetry By Chuck

Subtitle

White Line Fever

 

 

Leaving the rat race

Dust has a taste

Wind in my face

Life without haste

Claiming my place

on the road

 

Vibrations of feeling

Smells so appealing

The sky is beaming

Blue yet teeming

With clouds of white gleaming

on the road

 

Sunburned nose

Boots with shined toes

Leathers for clothes

Patches that show

Time to compose

on the road

 

Yellow strip moving

Glances disapproving

Civilization removing

Attitude improving

Nothing is proven

on the road

 

 

 

 

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