hobo
kingdom
I
am America
I
am a kingdom of more
I
want more of something
I
can’t put into words
yet
I try everyday
to
get more
to
write more
to
gather more
it’s
closing time
factories
are
memories
in America
a
land once free
now
snaked
with
ghosts of trains
and
the freight of empty promise
that our nonsensical humanity
has become
we
are moored
we
are a frilled neon
peep
show humanity
walking
the lines
another
lonely version
of
ourselves
out
searching for a more
that
may only ever be
glimpsed
in dreams
in scratch
fever Spring lucidity
there
once were plenty of jobs
root
towns could be found everywhere
steady
work and the ability to pay
fairly
a share of your burden
to
feed that hunger for more of something
that
you knew you wanted
and
could paint every year
and
wait for the seasons
to
peel back to your bones again
but
that story is only told in books now
and
those too are fading fast from view
as
electronic frontiers have commandeered
the
trees to burn instead of turning into paper
or
some other useful thing like railroad ties
that
forge the space between
mechanization
and sustainability
profiteers
have become the Mayors
in
all those root towns
and
divide the masses
with
social classes
that
pit one against the other
so
here I am too
walking that line
trying
to find
more of something
that
I can put in my pocket
that
I can take out
from
time to time
and
feel it’s shine
and
know it’s mine
when
I go back
and
fish my dreams
for
more words
to
paint over something
that I
can never really explain
how
it may be missing
with
any sort of why
other than my compromised soul
that I just keep
walking the line with
hoping someday
some words
some thing
someone
will be waiting
to find me too
prince and
pauper
puppet shadowing
the Sun
marking the days
in miles
along the way
EJR ©
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