Washed my face in the rivers of empire

made my bed from a cardboard crate

down in the City of Quartz.

No news, no new regrets.

Tossed a Susan B. over my shoulder

and prayed it would rain and rain

submerge the whole western states.

Call it a last fair deal

with American zeal

and corporate handshake.



Take the story of Carpenter Mike

who dropped his tools and his keys and left

and headed out as far as he could

past the cities and gated neighborhoods.

And he slept neath the stars

wrote down what he dreamt

and he built a machine

for no one to see.

Then took flight,

at first light

of new morning.