errol miller
ON THE ROAD
Primary religions have offered to heal me
I undress and insist my blood will boil excessively
cold and motionless I squat on golden floors and pout
by a wailing well full of red-clay country water
I sense a mundane sense of place
among the euphoric shattered cities of Europia
my soul has thickened in this weeping
I was born with a son inside of me and now two lost sons
run free among strange workmen with tattooed arms
my clam blue eyes caked with Tara's mud
we are talking about prices
the drummer insisting we'll skip the music
today I was crazy for a while and then
a maiden squeezed despair from my shiny bones
my father's dark trousers hanging on the bedpost
this cannot be sweet home if I live alone
a finishing school of unknown origin
my body needs a human, somehow
these days and nights have become foreign
let the rug of life be pulled form under me
if changing crowns will help
I am a transparent man in Highway 80
twirling a green palm branch
the churning gears of the universe
rocking me into a palace of smoky light
where men in capes direct evening traffic
sunbeams bounce from floral walls
a fat lady eats birdseed
and a goddess takes a bomb
from her purse.
