My hearth-stone is transient,
Wherever this melody flows.
Fueling the ravenous soul search,
Powering the motor-truth roads.
A desolate Texas dust storm sunset,
Or breezy Fisherman Wharf’s rollicking fog;
Metronome to a pilgrim soul.
Roasting succulent in Death Valley heat,
Bathing boreal in Keystone serenity;
Soundtrack for this boundless infinity.
Dust obscuring the rearview in choking whirls,
Reminder of miles and state lines traversed;
Ever onward those haunting Kerouac words,
Nourished bright-eyed revelations.
Hearth-stone has become a millstone,
Trapped in the domestic slow-burn inertia.
Still achingly voicing ambrosia wisdom,
Setting this soul along those lonely, beautiful roads.
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