LONESOME TRAVELER ON A BUSHWHACKED PIANO

 

 

Lonesome traveler on a bushwhacked piano

waiting for Lolita or Endless Life

never gaining the pure vision

the inspiration of a man of the spirit

waiting, waiting; seeking without looking

wanting without action; looking into

looking outward; stepping in; stepping out;

prancing dancing chancing trancing

I suppose it could do well for me

were God to speak to me sometimes

send me a poem to silence the critics

shoot lines of verse; metrical gems

thru my dirty, scratched fingertips

“No, No!” my uses say blocking me

from the sun’ the blossoming trees

keeping multi colored impressions

unutterable plight; pitiful fool

laughing hysterically; screaming madly

not knowing, not knowing, not knowing

perhaps knowing all too well

 

 

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