goodbye secret mornings

when the flow cant sing,

when pathways to your brain are busy feudin,

frenetically hashin out which track's left,

which is wicked,

while all along that train's there hummin from all corners

to hop on to,

cars full of visions, crisp

and miracles appear over and over again

in so many strikin expressions

if looked at them that certain way-

maybe every livin thing

includin human beings

SEES them

should you decide to climb aboard

outside, country zippin on

then only dyin further if you’re dead,

spreadin multi-directionally if you still got your seeds-

and back in Spanish Harlem

where is your woman?

she’s significantly residin here

rockin along through these travlin snows of Oklahoma

2/73