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