Sunday, August 21, 2016


So it may not have been a dream.
So maybe it was a dream. Some

Days I composed and composed well
And easily by the roadside,

Listening to the stream, the birds,
Occasional cars past my car

That I rarely walked away from,
Inhabiting the driver's seat,

Although I kept open windows
And tried to savor the quiet.

Some days I just wanted to sleep
And wake up to fight off the guilt

That I felt for allowing time
To waste me antisocially.

I would play Tom Waits' cover
Of "The Long Way Home," my way home,

Across vast stretches of Utah
To Utah, those years, maybe dreams.

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