birds by t

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.