“ mornin’ folks,  my name’s skye,  guess i’m your driver today,

so just sit tight,  buckle up,  keep yer noises down,  an’ don’t

        forget t’ flush the john . . . an’ ah,  no smokin’ ’til the next stop ” . . .

 ­ ­                          

                                                    ***                                                                    ***­

 ­and,  with that eloquent and heartfelt epithet,  blown

from the very lips of an angel,  as our vomit-colored

bus trundles off toward the sunset along route 442,

just south of miles junction,  and hard by the tracks

out past the county landfill toward that architectural

monstrosity built back in truman’s day usin’ money

disappropriated from the bureau of indian affairs to

hide from pryin’ eyes the facts,  of what exactly,  they

were goin’ to build was none other than a bonafide, 

top-secret,  underground research facility,  operatin’

for the sole purposes of explorin’ mankind’s infinite

capacity for engagin’  in enterprizes far beyond their

ability to understand,  while marchin’  off,  towards a

future they have deluded themselves into thinkin’ is

lined with rose-colored afterthoughts,  when all that

everybody really needed to get along was just a few

words of kindness,  tolerance,  or compassion,  and

every once in a while,  the strength,  that comes from

patience,  or the shelter that comes from forgiveness,

and,  one day,  when we wake up to find all our hopes

have run off with our dreams,  we will also discover,  that all

      this world ever needed,  was,  and still is,  is love . . .

***                                                  ***­

 

 

Welcome to BizneyLand

(  an’ thanks for usin’ FrailWays  )