In a beat up T-Bird
she told me to forget
to prevent my heart from exploding
or my half-ass mind
full of rhymes.
Squinting through a dirty windshield
I pictured myself doing that
then replied, would be a mess
but that’s not something
would cause me to confess.
I told her I’ve rehearsed
my deathbed scene
the ride in a hearse in snow
counting each flake.
She told me to forgive
time for removing loved ones
embrace moments given
lay the whiskey aside
just drive.
In a rusty beat up Thunderbird
we made it to Nashville
where dreams float like bubbles
and burst
leaving a thirst
to rhyme out of town.
Ignited 