A fine spring day. The first, really.
Realizing exactly what slouched
toward White Sands
to be born and is already grown.
Is getting old. I'm driven to get out
while the sun shines here
in a calmer city a life away,
where the perfect sun gets tangled
in the branches of predictably ho-hum
and whatever it is that Iíve
been dreaming lies asleep,
Iíve thought a bit too late--
but thatís okay. I did find out
whatís in a name, by god,
and I gotta say it isnít much.
Still, a good olí rummage through piles
of Ď50s junkís a trip, though one discovers
few if any homey bargains in the heaps.
I think whatever glitters
isnít gold, and nothing ever smells
no matter how high itís priced,
no matter what some historians write.