Okay, so I wrote this BEFORE the summer even began,

But most of y’all wouldn’t know that anyways,

AND, as it turned out this Summer-Predictions Poem was/is quite accurate…

SUMMER PREDICTIONS –LB 5.17.19

Driving up the Rockies,

Over The Great Divide

Down the Mississipp

through the cornfield...

congested through ways of the.

North east

past and through the drive-in,

drive-thru

Lobster Mc archways,

glazing through dunking rings of dough

crab Merry gaps,

Monumental squares,

Casino roundabouts,

up n down sacred elevations of the

GPS

TA emblazoned Beacons fueling me, Steve, the randos accompanying us and our chariot.

MP3, USB, the F to the B,

the blue Birdie,

the gram to the me,

the W that's three,

and the cloudless/cloudy.

[That might be where it should end]

The cloudless/ Cloudy yellow line,

dashing up,

And through,

In and over

states and codes and counties. Amphitheaters of similar dimensions

with similar sounds

and similar sights, in stealth,

directing my actions.

Parking grills,

pendant thrills,

Icy Gatorade chills,

Obsessive less likely nills.

A buildup of boric cured by a white pill the night's still made for me.

To be me.

[Another potential end]

Them days - ughhhhhh.

Sheetz strewn,

Car loaded

Onwards to the next show

go go slow,

go. Go, enjoy the journey but make the

scene by 3--

Set up, make money, get that ticket.

the day-- so gradually becomes night.

Add, the night's [still] made for me?

The congested smooky boozy money

packed line.

The Hourglass moment.

Squeeze, tug, push.

No cadence, no rhyme, reason, rhythm,

Buck waters

Asshole cops or Boulder cops-- best in

the nation.

Security guards; MGM or MGM

The latter? Michael in a wheelchair,

The former? The CSI kickers.

The lights change

And them four--

And we all--

And "another reason to play Kick the Can."