There will come a time when you must go to the river
The only road that can take you there is the fastest lane you can find
Do not be surprised if the music drowns out your thoughts
Accept it
Because when you go to the river you must empty yourself of everything else

When you get to the river you can pray if you want to
Or meditate
Or contemplate universal truths
Or scream at the music that blares from the open doors of Kentucky clubs
All that matters is where you are
When you get to the river pile the rocks by the bank so no one can deny you of this experience
Hold the rocks in your hand and feel each and every crevice
The texture of the stone is a memorial for all who did not make it back from the waters
Remember that every river is one
All rivers are holy
The water hitting the shore is a hymn of death and life and all earthly eternity so listen closely and carefully
Then sing your hymns to the geese and the ghosts and the monsters in the river
Understand why you made this pilgrimage

Remember that eventually you must leave the river
Remember where their car is parked
Remember who you are
On the way home don't take the highway
The highway is only so you can get to the river as fast as possible
Home can wait
Remember the day before
Remember how Allen Ginsberg sent you his answer in the form towers of water that everyone but you could see and know in your heart there is no answer more fitting than that
You will eventually get back to your own car
You will drive to your house basking in violet light
Sing every word you remember from your childhood
Take the long way into town
Get as lost as you will allow yourself and never too lost to find your way back
Do not worry about that river
The river will be there when you are ready to return

Almost a week has past
Since it was announced you will die
A day like that was always destined to come
But I am still not ready
Gordon Downie I want to write your eulogy now
And maybe you will see it
And understand how you've changed the life
Of this child of America

Gordon Downie you have made me scared
And if any sort of courage is going to come
Let it come now
I can't think of a worse time than this
Why must all my heroes leave me here?
But I understand that before a person becomes a saint they must perform miracles after their death

The three words I would use to describe you, you already know
Gordie you are a man
A machine
And a poem
The first song I remember learning how to sing, you beckoned me in from the wicked prairie winds  
And now I just hope that when I hear the news of the final words I smile
And it will be fine
But Gordie
I have avoided all the trends and clichés a young man of 20 can
I have sat in parking lots and coffee shops and witnessed beautiful things continuing as long as this world will let them

But it is you who has traveled to the hundredth meridian
The man who can get behind anything
The man who stood neck deep in the lake and yelled "you are not the ocean" and refused to swim
I learned that I must be ready to live my life because we get no dress rehearsals
I learned to be honest with who I am because no one's interested in the things I didn't do

Gordon Downie you are the machine that powered my childhood so this poem is for you
And when you die Heaven will truly be a better place
And one day I will meet you there
But until then
I will go to Bobcaygeon
And watch those constellations
Reveal themselves
One star
At a time

Allen what happened to the America you used to inhabit?
What happened to the America that raised you to be an angel?
Allen why are the bison in hiding?
When will we ask Cuba for it's forgiveness?
I am sentimental about Cuba and I am sentimental about America

They used to say the American Dream was a green light on a dock at the other end of the lake
Now they tell us that light is actually swamp gas, a trick of the eye, the moon reflecting off the water
And we are left to search for the American Dream at the wheel of a Cadillac in a haze of drugs among the ruins of Vegas

Allen when will we hear from you again?
Allen you would not believe what has happened to love in America
Love has become too serious
Too calculated
Too intentional
Allen wasn't your love accidental?
Didn't it possess mistakes?
Love is ceremoniously scripted
Downright mechanical
An exhibition of State sanctioned sincerity

Allen please give my regards to Burroughs
The space program is closed to the astronauts
We need to get serious about space travel
America has become silly when it needs to be serious and serious when it needs to be silly
This election is a joke and we are dying not laughing

Allen we are fighting wars across the oceans with drones it's sinister
Every general is now an armchair general
They say they bombed a hospital by accident
Allen I'm afraid of what they do on purpose

Allen I feel like giving up on America
The golden valleys have been melted down for the false teeth of millionaires
The highways full or diamonds have been dug up and the diamonds sit in vaults with diamonds bought with blood
Allen you and I are too sensitive for what America has become
Allen I need you now more than ever
Please write back soon
Yours truly

Two years now
Since I have walked the streets
Of the city of New York
I remember Central Park
Avenue of The Americas
A statue of a man
Like Sandburg's General
"Riding like hell on horseback"
The inscription reads as follows
"Apostle of Cuban Independence"
José Martí you truly were an honest man
Your words were the green of the spring leaves breaking free from the winter
Your words were red like the blood you shed
The revolution you died for
The revolution you were sent to a work camp for
The revolution you spent most of your life in exile for and lead you to write "Do not put me in the dark to die like a traitor"
"Leader of the Peoples of America"
José Martí how many New York souls walk by you without a second thought?
How many don't know your name?
They see a man on horseback
Do they see you as the poet you were?
Do they know you as one who loves and creates?
"Defender of Human Dignity"
José Martí what dignity have they left you?
The statue is the moment you were shot and killed on horseback
You were no general
You only wanted to see your country free
José Martí you deserve better than to be locked in eternal death
On a quiet April night I see you writing at a desk
Longing to return home
Longing to return to Cuba and never leave again
José Martí I think of you now
You are a good thing
And you died with your face to the sun
And I too will fill my face with sunlight
And remember your name

When you write a poem
What do you tell them?
Are you honest with them?
Do you tell them that you believe in God
That, though you are not Catholic, you believe in holy saints in plain clothes
Saints that don't know they are saints
No one can tell until they speak holy words of compassion
Do you tell them you think there is a bigger plan?
A greater purpose outside of passing off genetic material to another generation
Would they ask you what it means to you when someone says born again?
Would you tell them that you feel born again most Sundays but let yourself slip back into comfortable death the next morning?
Do you tell them about your job?
(Do they care?)
Do you tell them about your dreams?
(Do they listen to that either?)
Do you tell them that lately your dreams have been faint and you are afraid that one day you are going to wake up and not recognize the pieces that are left on the floor?
Do you tell them when you are down and out?
That you prefer using the term "melancholy"
Because it sounds a lot more artistic than "like ****"
Do you tell them that you think you sometimes swear a little too much?
That it makes you seem unapproachable
Do you tell them about your struggle to decide whether or not you want to make yourself approachable for love?
Do you tell them that maybe you saying "I don't have the energy to invest in a relationship" also means "I don't have the energy to invest in a heartbreak"
Do you tell them you have never been that great at love and you are afraid you missed every chance you had
Do you tell them you would rather dig the world
(As your heroes say)
Do you ask them if you talk about your heroes too much?
Do you tell them about the tears shed for Johnny Cash that night after you finished his memoir?
Do you tell them where you where when you heard the news of Pete Seeger's death and wished you would have learned it later?
Do you tell them about all the times you look in the mirror and tell yourself "Joe Strummer lived with such power that his heart gave out, how dare you be so apathetic, with such self pity"
Do you tell them that you love them?
Even if you don't know them that well and don't understand exactly what they are going through
That deep deep down you do secretly understand
What should you tell them when you write your poems?
You should tell them that

Everybody's ready for the summer
Except me
I am thinking back to summers of youth
One year ago
A summer of sadness and San Antonio
Two years
With a summer of nervous whispers on the beaches of Folly
Three years in the heart of Montana where I consider the last of the American Edens to be hidden
Summers of foolish young ecstasy
Listening to Matt & Kim
Imagining the holiness of Brooklyn &
Grand Street
Weeks spent in the hills of Chillicothe
The dirt of Chillicothe getting underneath fingernails and Chillicothe winds whispering in the night "Enjoy it now for it won't last"

So raise whatever drinks you've got
Let's toast the summer
On this the cruelest month
But how is April the cruelest month
When we elect the president in November?
We still have the summer left for our love
And if a wasteland comes to knock on our doors in the fall
Let it in
Enjoy the summer now
For even the wind knows
It won't last

This is about the world as you might hear it in a Springsteen song,
The long road ahead stretched like an invitation to some unburdened future - the freedom to make it in America without selling your soul,
the dream of every man, woman, and child to land upon these shores,
This is about the politics of suffocating that dream,
The last few blinking seconds of light before the quiet dark consumes,
The great surrender,
The resignation from both sides that the fight was fixed from the beginning,
The process of accepting that the reality you are in now is post-hope,
You cannot live on and you cannot die,
You are the true silent majority,
You unnumbered purgatoried masses, you incarcerated brilliant souls, you who thought you could stay honest, you who thought you would recognize your moment when it came, you who cannot remember what life was like
BEFORE. ALL. OF. THIS.

This is about how to recognize when your way of life has failed you.
This is about how to recognize when history repeats itself.
This is about how to recognize that your system is ready to die.
This is about ******* that system.

Step one:
Step outside of the things that you believe
Step two;
Start over

This is about the shadow of Nixonland as it darkens the American sky once more,
About the mourning mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons,
who can not live through this again,
This is about knowing when it is time to let go,
For you are not the captain of this ship,
You are under no obligation to go down with it