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 that death train

to figure out where we’re going?

yes, the cannibal conductor knows,

yes, he gives orders to keep moving straight ahead

toward another charnel house,

the only way to deceive,

the only way to exploit the exploited

6/28/73