Warm breezes
And the late
Afternoon sun
Dry out my bones
Wailing old
Dylan and
BBQ, back in
The hood where
Many memories
Linger, can’t
Exactly put
My finger on
It, but something
Is different,
Perhaps this
Old cowboy town
Has become a
Friend after all,
Holding open
Arms as I fall
Into the stream
Of the future,
It is all happening
So fast, people
Going, people coming
The drummer
And never has it
Seemed more like
Déjà vu
Than this cool
Easy time,
No worries
Says my brother,
He of the other ilk,
Who is my polar
Opposite, and yet
Not, I have gotten
Into his groove
Far too easily,
Kind of scary,
Where is this
All going, is it
Called Surrender,
I wonder…


©J.W.WINSLOW 7/1/11