Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

still gone.

The stars in my spit
at the edge of sleeptime
in the nighttime
on the flat plains
of Wichita.
I am there
in that Kansas of my dreams,
those craven turnpikes
and the firecracker bombs
went off
on the dirt of smalltown Furley roads.
There were seven stars,
maybe eight
July 2,
A millinea's full of dust
swept up
under the air force base rug.
the poetry of the shopping cart
in that walmart
I wandered the aisles alone
one friday night.
Prom was a bust,
Sunday in the graveyard
the day after
listening to emo
on my tailgate,
also alone.
Another alone on an everyday night,
I was restless
I was glad to get out
at some point.