writing a poem (on my iPod: feels like cheating) while greyhounding back homeward--- (weekend red stripes in guelph & waterloo) it hasn't much t'do with anything, save perhaps this mournful banjo in my ear and grey toronto and the plateglass houses of the great rich masses set back on manicured hills. . . . . . it is overcast again ---tho t'always is on busfilled travel sundays--- when you've nothing else to do but leave all the weekend's joy in the dusts. preachers screamin' in fastidious belled churches while my head splits (from th'very thought)
and O the women i leave behind! the tight snaky barworn dresses, smudges (lipsticks) on ***** cranberries ... ah! (ah!) all the numbers and names half-collected, waiting for next trip down ---or maybe just black oblivion.
. . . but enough of cloudy thoughts! i have Spring and all (WCW) waiting in the pack & afterall
is the only thing of any importance. the gardens of bedroom bliss the freckled map of womankind the rippling cascade of golden hair must wait...
free greyhound internet travel verses, brought to you by iPod Touch (R.I.P. Steve Jobs)