Smoking Lizard is Driving - a poem written just for that failed idea of a poetry eBook

In the darkness,
as the road rolls
under my wheels,
empty-headed dreams rise.
On this highway
I know every dip
and twist now
so bloody well,
my mind wanders away
into fantastic Aethers.

It seeks something
for my next project
to work on
against the deep boredom
broken only by
the threat of deer
leaping onto pavement,
Reptile brain drives,
as others gallivant
into the dream worlds
seeking story ideas.

They rise up
out of lowland fogs
as we move,
the three part beast,
the smoking lizard
faithful at the wheel,
shaggy mountain man
eyes hunting threats,
as the wandering dreamer
dives into imagination.

Neurons gauzed thickly
by Aetheral fog banks
that hold secrets
or just strange bits
around which the bard
can build his tales
for telling later.
Or right now,
as I find myself muttering
bits of dialogue.

Despite the risks,
each trip this happens.
Wyoming whiteouts swirled
and the mind wandered
trusting elder remnants
of caveman and reptile
to use reflexes
as the dreamer
wanders amid that threat
seeking new visions.

Even severe thunderstorms
broiling across arid landscape
of High Plains
during the hot summers
never stopped quests
by my various egos
who each hold
some vital skill
that makes the tales
come to life.

This trip peaks,
along the Great Divide,
amid red clay
turned grey under moon
as tires thrum
the road's siren song
that calls me
back to reality
as the primitive bits
bathroom locations often.

After that break
the dreams return quick,
as we begin
that difficult, twisty part
of path home.
I crack the window
to gain air
fighting sleep off
as the lizard puffs
through my pipes.

Mountains around me
as we rise up
and descend repeatedly,
watching awestruck for moment
when the moon
sets beside streaking meteor,
which tickles ideas
inside my skull
and the dreams arise
one more time.

Across the sage-lands,
winding past lonely Evanston,
the body drives,
and all but dinosaur
circle around ideas
seeking to bag prey
he alone ignores,
knowing the dangers
of hunting those dreams
during dark journeys.

Entering a draw,
deep reddish orange cliffs
taking their hues
from the growing light
as swift twilight
overtakes the dark night
and me rolling
down this road.
Her light gives body
the reins back.

We all tumble
back into one being,
save the lizard
who clamps on pipe,
begging someone please
to load two more.
"We still have
those damned canyons,
and all the idiots
racing to work".

His warning works,
as I become one,
bits melding together
over cup of coffee
long since cold
bought along back trail
probably on prairies
I once called home
before these mountains captured
my roaming heart.

Weaving my way
up Silver Creek Canyon
I begin assembling
the guy others know
from those inside,
forcing them back together.
Crossing Parley's Park
the welding complete
as I become Dave
not Dyfedd Rex.

Emerging from canyons
the Great Basin spreads
before my eyes
under the grey dawn
my eyes seek
remains of inland sea
long since faded
to shallow lake
holding more salt within
than most seas.

The dream remain,
now a bit faded,
tattered thought bits
that I can weave
when chance allows
into poems perhaps,
or a story
if characters co-operate
and the smoking lizard
releases the wheel...
after parking car
before my home.
-August 2014 from kernel idea September 2010.