(Untitled)
I drove out on the red Mojave desert. The wind blew sand against my face, setting the deep grooves of the road in leather on my brow. Frankie the Mulatto sat shotgun and smoked a cigarette. His hazel skin glowed in the heat. We popped something real smooth into the tape deck of my old blue Lincoln convertible and let the song roll along ( Read more... )
Comments 1
His nose matched his hair, and he wasn't all there;
His hair matched his hat, and that was that.
Oh, Frankie, why ya' gotta' go?
To the land of the Mohave?
Oh doncha' know?
Bill's car is blue and so am I,
Lord, oh Lord, your gonna' die...
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