Teenage poet sitting in carpet recliner,
ghost town 400 miles north in a page forgotten in Maine.
Swig whiskey on golf course, dance with dancing singing
seven year old Russian niece.
Drive through hello/goodbye tiny towns,
neighboring rusted stopped trains on rustic grass-
overgrown tracks, passing through farm lands of family roots,
horse drawn carriages, and Kerouac cows, heads down.
No comments:
Post a Comment