Monday, April 13, 2009

poem #7

put a twenty on little william in the eighth
he will not disappoint you
until the raindrops roll down the pay window
and the refreshment stand is closed until next spring

on the greyhound bus back to san francisco
this is what you were born for
it will never get better than this
the hot dog and chips between the sixth and seventh race

duffy was unsure of himself
he's losing it
the hiss of the wheels on the highway
the ears on the drivers head sticking out like grapefruit

tomorrow is forever
tonight you will sleep like a newspaper in a rack

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