Yellowstone
A bison steps onto the street
Into moving traffic
Not a care in the world
No light in his eyes
Have we changed him?
Is he dead inside?
the night I met Deana
Black ice paints the forlorn roads Smiles fade as tires slow Sitting in a bar, alone I have nowhere else to go Poetic words born from rum Napkin wrapped around old gum I revere a gentle strum Unable to see who from A familiar face across the bar A smile holds his mouth ajar Beside him shines a golden star I ask them who and how they are We drink, we laugh and we talk The bartender points to the clock It's time to go, we have lost The right to drive, now we walk
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