Saturday, April 13, 2013

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

Monday, April 8, 2013

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

Thursday, April 4, 2013

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