on the corner

i stood on the corner all my life and never got lost and everything in the drugstore i knew what it cost the pizza parlor behind my back the echoes from the railroad track the endless movies in my head the roads down which they never led the distant highway with its phantom trucks the silver rolls royces and the big bucks everybody's dreams or only mine? the flicker of a match or endless time? i want to jump in the river of darkness and wash my life away let that shiny moon rise over my grave and let them never find me the next day

traveling man

rome new york poor boy, far from home thumb out between troy and rome pa went bust and sold the farm the world is full of woe and harm muncie indiana women in muncie have sad eyes wear blue dresses and make pies they leave them on the windowsill for passing boes to eat their fill joliet illinois the girls all laugh at the poor boys standing on the corner in joliet illinois paris tennessee the sheriff in paris tennessee doesn't care for you or me he sits in front of the courthouse wall and hardly ever moves at all waycross georgia folks drink doctor pepper and moxie and go to movies at the roxie everywhere there's lots of dust they stomp and breathe it, because they must laramie wyoming tom thought adelaide was sweet they went to the diner across the street they had coffee and pie and such she looked out the window and didn't say much sheridan wyoming there was this hippie got on the bus he didn't look like one of us had wraparound shades and a long red beard he was a cannibal, we feared elko nevada hank lies in bed in the dark motel outside the world is hot as hell pearl stands in the doorway, if you please desperately waiting for a breeze death valley the vulture in the endless sky smoothly sailing, high and dry looks down upon the rattlesnakes and scorpions in the long dead lakes end of the road seeing the sun set in the west that was the thing i liked the best and when we reached the pacific coast that was the thing i liked the most the road goes on in greyhound stations a strange light falls across the benches at night

a walk on the beach

a tiresome windbag and a crashing bore walked along a pebbled shore the windbag spoke of the meaning of life the bore of his unloving wife a seagull watched as they grew near and saw the windbag brush a tear from his pale and fluttering eye beneath the gray and cloudswept sky the seagull had no notion of the cause of the windbag's emotion but scanned the wide and desolate beach for edibles within his reach alas, alas, the windbag cried as he scanned the detritus of the tide my life its course has near run through but i have not received my due o why is humanity imbued with inexplicable ingratitude for all that i have striven why is no acknowledgement given? the bore now caught the seagull's eye like his, it was exceeding dry and seemed to wander as the windbag on his one note continued to drag the horizon showed no mighty ships but a bag of wise potato chips caught the seagull's pertinent gaze the wind had blown the bag a ways the unbroken bag contained a feast to delight a human, bird or beast a potent mix of salt and grease to fuel a creature's inner peace the windbag with the bore kept pace as raindrops began to hit their faces the wind picked up, the tide grew higher the windbag's voice did not expire they continued down the beach's curve but from their natures did not swerve each one talked, but nothing said until the sinking sun turned red the night grew dark, and damp, and cold across the waves their voices rolled the windbag swore, the bore insisted the seagull forgot that they existed