Highway 80 is calling my name.

Highway 80 is calling my name.

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

 I’m tire of same places and faces. I need the road. 

                                 Highway 80 is calling my name.

I’m tire, so damn tired.

Somehow I got lost. I looked into the mirror and I see a bloody stranger.
A ghost of a man I once was. I’m tire of people who have no concern for me.
Just blood suckers stealing my blood and life.

I saw men lay down and died often in my life. Sometime the gun is faster than the slow death.
I was a soldier once and I knew freedom one.

In sweet dreams. I danced, sang, drank and owned nothing but my old truck.  I was free of people with
fake smiles and they worked you till you become worthless and dead .

I bleed for people daily who watch me die daily. They do not care for the real reasons of life.
Work, work and work some more. They steal your soul and do not give a damn about you.

I’m tire, so damn tire.

I hear the road calling. I want the free people and long highway.

Highway 80 west is whispering my name. Telling me the Pacific is waiting for me.
I need a dozen years by the sea and the forest. Drink in my Ojibwa blood.
Today I’m no-one. I am dead-man walking.

I need Big Sur and a tent. To drink with musicians, writers, surfers and the poets.
Leave the fake goals and cell phones behind.

I need conversation, long chess games and a worthwhile cause. If  I die today.
What will they say Johnnie was? Just a donkey who left his world worst off than he got.
This is very sad.

The road is calling me and kind people are offering me places to rest.
The donkey is too weak to  move, the donkey need a kind lady and the sea nearby.
I’m tire, so damn tire.

                           Coyote/John Castellenas