I Am Alone Here In My Own

I Am Not At Home In Myself. I Am My Own Stranger.

Put Your Ear Down Close To Your Soul And Listen Hard.

Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.

Let The Light Be Called Day So That Men May Grow Corn Or Take Busses.

I Sit At My Desk Each Night With No Place To Go, Opening The Wrinkled Maps Of Milwaukee And Buffalo, The Whole U.s., Its Cemeteries, Its Arbitrary Time Zones, Through Routes Like Small Veins, Capitals Like Small Stones.