A HOBO'S NOTES
I caught a freight train headed back east, and left behind the Pacific and its salt breeze.
The sun was setting and I braced myself for the scorching desert heat. I offered a prayer to Mother Earth for speed and got a nasty bump on my dome from a metal ladder on a tanker car.
Under the glowing clouds of our galaxy, I slept sound, dreaming of spinning tales around campfires.
Gone are the swarms of bugs that used to blot out the stars in these parts. Strange that.
Morning was painfully bright. Out west was the dust and mountains and the old Spanish missions.
The song of the screeching rails was my signal. I took a few days in El Paso to rest my bones from the rail's beat. I ate tacos, drank beer by the river, and met a poet. I saw a gang beat a man half to death. I gave him water, he gave me ten bucks.
Whether it was the heat or the beer, I saw some sparkling ships in the sky. Could've been anything really. I saw the universe in the eyes of the Goddess in a dream. I met an old friend and she told me she'd see me back east and so I got on with it.
The train slowed after crossing the plains and my bones ached in anticipation of a week or more on the rails. Journey took its toll, but when I finally got back east, I paid a visit to John Harvard without touching his shoe, the shiny one is pissed on by college brats.
I read all the books and heard all the stories now too. I found out I knew the Dao all along.
I figured it's about time to get to writing, so the pen is my train now. The page is the land ahead.
If I could I'd roll up the whole country with me, on that ride from west back east. I'd give it all back. It'd be like destiny unmanifested.
One day I'll head back west. Not today, though.
-Brian
I caught a freight train headed back east, and left behind the Pacific and its salt breeze.
The sun was setting and I braced myself for the scorching desert heat. I offered a prayer to Mother Earth for speed and got a nasty bump on my dome from a metal ladder on a tanker car.
Under the glowing clouds of our galaxy, I slept sound, dreaming of spinning tales around campfires.
Gone are the swarms of bugs that used to blot out the stars in these parts. Strange that.
Morning was painfully bright. Out west was the dust and mountains and the old Spanish missions.
The song of the screeching rails was my signal. I took a few days in El Paso to rest my bones from the rail's beat. I ate tacos, drank beer by the river, and met a poet. I saw a gang beat a man half to death. I gave him water, he gave me ten bucks.
Whether it was the heat or the beer, I saw some sparkling ships in the sky. Could've been anything really. I saw the universe in the eyes of the Goddess in a dream. I met an old friend and she told me she'd see me back east and so I got on with it.
The train slowed after crossing the plains and my bones ached in anticipation of a week or more on the rails. Journey took its toll, but when I finally got back east, I paid a visit to John Harvard without touching his shoe, the shiny one is pissed on by college brats.
I read all the books and heard all the stories now too. I found out I knew the Dao all along.
I figured it's about time to get to writing, so the pen is my train now. The page is the land ahead.
If I could I'd roll up the whole country with me, on that ride from west back east. I'd give it all back. It'd be like destiny unmanifested.
One day I'll head back west. Not today, though.
-Brian
