Walking alone in suburban night lights
While crickets and frogs belt out
Enlightened, liberated free-jazz.
By sunrise, philosophizing anarcho-mysticism
By sunset, drunk on the corn-fields,
With wolves, howling about fascism towards the moon
Drumming reactionary funk into the sidewalk
With the soul of your shoes.
Your feet groove holy mantras into the concrete
Night after night,
You, the heat, the summer air, the stars
Pondering the nothing in the meaning of everything
Whispering up a doubt-filled prayer to the God from this past weekend.
Dear Doctor Jesus,
You who make the blind to walk at night
Guided by the atonal sound of honking horns
Led by the Spirit
Past hometown churches
Offering a $20 penance
Into corn-field monasteries for
Forty days and forty nights.
Into diners, starving and broke
But not broken;
Not as broken.
The spirit guides you,
To grave-yard shift wandering,
4 AM, despicably free at the hands of
You make the lame to see…