Ranch Poem – “Sore Spots”


Sore Spots

A quiet birthday, a busted harmonica.
A long hard stare between two close faces.
Walking in on your friends jamming in the basement.
And it may finally be Spring but you’re still cold.
Sometimes you know you are ready but the stage lights aren’t on
Rage spot relics remind that we’re here to make people feel good.
Train on everyone, train on for the Big POP.
Lot of people don’t get to pop ever.
She can make ya feel from every angle, so you’re spinning.
C’est La Vie. It’s always too short. And it’s all happening.
Blacklight your blank pages and pour spit.
Make a sentence happen, make a measure appear.
Make a measure happen, make a sentence without fear.
Moons slipping out of coin slots on repeat.
Beat snares, grab hold of that which you care for
and produce lore from your friends and sore spots.





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