i shall not find a tree
if you do not flee from me.
i won't pee much, you'll see
even a Fogarty sampler.
mine's good enough but yours's better.
as usual, in an argyl sweater.
nor will i hide in the wind
or go dipsy dumpster diving for some binned
cans of leftover tuna turning brown around the fringes
for lunch by a dowager, homeless and down on her whinges
stuck in the woods by a robin's hoods,
done slick in a mackinaw back
playing hacky-sack in your woods
with god's clock, tick tocking over the universe
what's worse, it wasn't first, there were other clocks surf
ing around the boot-heel pull-ups in the craven weeds
at the truckstop wide spot station brothel gas and house
of Madame Toussard's wax machine ...
for assignation peregrination and the nation's bean
but that's not here nor there just now
let's go across the mountain
let's let the ship have its prow
let's find a local fountain
and get soused
