Poem on Neal
Looking for Neal
There is no secret N.C. of these poems, mystic
. fast-driving figure leaving trails of girls
. in dust, axis for countless conversations and
. recordings on the skull,
the mad-man pointing crooked thumb to sky as wind
. swirls around his western form, ecstatic life-. force grown up among steal pipes or dropped
. from clouds to inspire needed revolutions.
No dust or speeding locomotive; the past has
. dried and hangs in sheaves in archivists'
. files and we search for terms and licenses to
. unleash unbridled minds,
so where's that brother soiled in black sweat,
. reaching far and taking hold of backs of
. minds, maybe frozen solid to that set of
. tracks leading on to fields in Mexico but
we are looking for you, Neal; in the distant
. pages, laughing as you make mad dances with
. the pen and spread your muddy footprints on
. our typeface, whispering thoughts of girls
. and hash-filled dreams; you may reside here
ready to hit these roads as we take spiraling
. notes, before the sun has time to dawn.