We went, we went on
in everglades paper, drawn on
stretchy whales, a fig, the camino.
Want to roll
so we roll wildly
west: this spread, a hog, the horses
in spanish pits. Dust malls
the trucks on our lords bright day, & Score.
I call up to you there, johnny.
You pearl.
“THINGS ARE GOING TO GET VERY FISCAL”
Spell the rocks coming down
the bay and you putting it together in the water.
a little fin–
a tress.
Go on 24 in the aftershine
panther arches. Be your neon fish
and your silver fish, your pilgrims’ watch
in the blue poollight.
It is like wearing a hat- everyone else
is, & placards, bells, napkins, shoes, black
as ever you dream.
—-
Illegality in the bathtub. Murmers
of your past life, acres against,
does in.
——
Any one thing that has happened,
take it. On the Road
was this triumph you thought.
Taken apart, always as if
a little plume in your coffee. Someone in godawful light
saying stirring, red where we walked in, sat down, just what
against the long blue glass. Thingie of keys,
leaning in, what, cradled in.
A planestrip dotting the white earth.
I get to do anything again.