on a desert Christmas morning

19, 1981.

1981.

One month shy of six years old

in the valley of the sun.

My first two-wheel bicycle stood by the tree. My heart thumping in my chest

Though I tried I couldn't ride one yet And Out on a street when my dad let go up to see I wrote.

Out on a street when my dad let go of the seat.

I wrote all. go up to sleep. I rode off and down the road. Somehow I never went back home, but I remember what it was like.

I've tried my yellow bike.

Those freedom, second light, all the places I could ride,

Leaving early packing life,

that little ache inside my kingdom for someone to ride with. highway. Now a highway man traded in his handlebars going back and forth.

Going back and forth

and bands and rental cars

on the 10 to 5, the 90 and the 95

in love with every stretch of road

but when I drive them on my home, they remind me what it was like.

A stride that yellow by my kingdom for someone.

Some folks are loners and you learn learned from them if you've always been a joiner on the loose again.

But if you keep your legs pumping despite everything

well you can take that stick you can take that sting, you can make it swing.

...