sometime later into the flag
the bus had shimmied in from some
profoundly dim northern road,
after a whole daylife of
makin it without decisions,
or feeling the rail flow
holy, endlessly
into the anyway of
all those distances traveled,
accompanied by bluegreen Earth,
populated by ride givers and dream stabbers
this time into the flag
I was smoking outside the nursing home
wearing my lower Main Street cabdriver cap,
when over the radio:
“House sustained President’s veto over Congressional decision to cut off bombing funds in Cambodia and Laos…”
how many times must we stop a death train to figure out where we’re going?
yes, the cannibal conductor knows,
he gives orders to keep moving straight ahead
toward another charnel house,
the only way to deceive,
the coward's way to exploit the exploited
6/28/73