GUSTO AND GRATITUDE

both the midget and I huddled
on the northbound freight train
as the fog became thicker
and the air got cooler

eating bread, cheese and sardines
we sit cross-legged before a bottle of wine
practicing charity as our religion
in silence searching for wisdom

travelling in a boxcar towards Shasta
with no sympathy for the first class hypocrites
high on their cinnamon-red benzedrine
we stare at our exhausted sleep

feeling the power of our lost mind
and forgetting the outside world
two old poets sit cross-legged
eating, drinking wine with gusto and gratitude

HORSE

Shivering, the energy rushed to his arm.
His blemished skin ran towards the dark,
beneath the bulging veins of an old junkie.
At arm's length away, he let the needle drip.

Crash, the horse jumped up backwards,
falling to the ground. The horse bucked ahead
unshaken. The junkie picked a second needle.
Shivering, the energy rushed to his arm.

More time to honour a perfect fix-
he welcomed the golden arm, apologized
to the horse, and placed needle to vein,
his blemished skin ran towards the dark.

Beyond the blowing dirt he tripped, among a hundred
roaring hooves and glazed colors.
His horse bucked, jumped and fell
beneath the bulging veins of an old junkie.

A huge black stallion broke from the pack.
The crazy horse swerved from the attack.
The stallion rushed again. Th junkie stumbled
At arm's length away, he let the needle drip.


This poem is a cascade poem for http://bigtentpoetry.org