How sad t’wouldit’ve been if instead
of hitchhiking in eighty-five down Florissantway to Hub Leuhr’s Rides
and St. Charles for carnywork as roustabout bolting down ferris wheel, haunted house
and met that pancake place waitress in Terre Haute on the river Wabash who knew bass from trout
and run up together then to Wisconsin for strawberry picking on knees alongside stooping migrants
before greyhounding out to high mesa Albuquerque
then splitting up on moteled route sixty-six’s garrish dusks then
sticking by that cowgirl who could ride hanging out just south
of Los Lunas adobe pueblos then north alone again
heading into that crabapple blossom meltsnow dusted
Denver monastary prior to going all the way to anemone rockbeached Monterrey then south to Encenada’s dusty cafes of
hardcore tequila and refried street beans
and ornamente bulbed feliz nativatadic nights
after suing a hit’n’run bum for a tidy sum,
so different things would’ve become thus, I can’t strongly enough
recommend for fun unbridled prospect exploring to expect
nothing and none while prepared to embrace what sorrows come
along with all there is of love of all
who hold close life in infatuate thrall
emblemified all by sun and storm til cloudy dreams in mist do come
surpassing whatever fate has done.
It was after that then when scanning frostwaved Lake Michigan that the vast western sea going into orient then meant rebirth of necessity to hear the colors
and taste the sights unseen of greater thens.

Related Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *