the early morning sun
is always brighter than
the day is warm when
I'm catching a bus
to who knows where
and everyone I see
reads like Kerouac one way
or another and the world
only seems to make
more sense that way.
lonely poet tenement hero
cutting down the muttering bum streets
searching for something I've never
quite figured out but I want to find just the same
you got lost somewhere in that cheap red wine
that you must've sworn off a thousand times.
I've nothing new to add to your story
but a thank you and one more lifetime
spent imitating your jazz rhythms.
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