Maybe I will listen to Chopin
One day and fall asleep do you
See the far stars on the near road
In early October? They are elk horns.
Dreams of rockets, bugle streams
Melvin at the pool table again
Beyond the eastern boundary
Of the reservation Germans who
Can’t speak English even say
How did we get here? They count
The time with each breath each
Sip then Blake’s lot a burger doesn’t
Sound so bad does it?

If I could make this landscape into a point Of light I would
Like trying to grab the stars so gracefully tiredly they would
Even say again go