my shoes in the museum now.
dream about that.
left overs from train rides
and other side ways
and reaching around the mountain
to grab onto something
other than what’s on my own plate
crumbs and wanted tastes
of cardamom and lesser evils
in America
and in America again.
why.
and eyes closed I pray
for decency
and times past
natural disaster of soul
and soles worn
and warned
against leaving.
but where are you now?
not America
not with me here
here in America
sleeping in the libraries
with leaking roofs
and pages stuck together
why you think this is joke or metaphor
or beneath what you belong to
how do I get want I am going after
here
in America
remind me of that.
