You leave that dismal room
And walk
Past open doors
And broken clock

Down dingy corridors
You creep
While strangers
In strange rooms find sleep

You walk on carpet
Stained and fading
Designs all ruined
Yet not abating


Out where the housekeeper’s
Cart is parked
Her smile sunken
Her manner dark


She emerges from
Behind a stack
Of ***** blankets
Folded back

With broken teeth
And burdened eyes
Wrinkles worn
In plain disguise

Someone’s daughter
Whittled down
Her hair too thin
Along her crown

Yet harboring
A warmth untouched
Her shattered image
Says too much

Windows open
On a courtyard scene
Junkies nodding
In the sun serene

High altitude
Of Denver streets
Smell ***** smoke
And searing meats

In Civic Park
The men that stare
Sell rough-cut gems
Which slice the air

One calls you over
With his hand
More incantation
Than command

Says that he’s got
Just what you need
With eyes now begging
To be freed

You walk away
And in his strife
He calls to you
“I’ve lived my life!”

With eyes as dark
As afghan hash
He fades away
As you move past

In distant vistas
Where the Rockies lie
You hear that unknown
Ancient cry

You feel the motion
You must move on
The mountains are calling
The city is gone