Poem: A Collection of Dirt From A Traveller's Boot

[jakebe]

Last one for the day. :)

A rather known poet from New Mexico stopped by for a reading at the Ozark Mtn. Smokehouse up the street, and he came into the Bookshop to buy some stuff. I forgot his name, but this is for him.

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A Collection of Dirt From A Traveller's Boot

Underneath fluorescence
and surrounded by age
that is imagined as knowledgeable trees
talks a stranger, a troubadour
with news of the far for the day.
A local holds spellbound
watching practiced hands move
around the words in the air
shaping pictures of firelight and desert
and old ghost-town pubs with puke-water on cactus,
of pool tables and dusty sandpaper men
with the wisdom of too much red and alcohol.
These are stories of other tribes,
of displaced wanderers and of the differences
between the same people of seperate geographies.
Instances of timelessness
transmuted between dreamers of a certain station,
a subconscious reminded
that outside the comfortable treads of well-worn awe
other wonders still exist.