Denver Bars On the Road
when he walks into the room,
there is no room,
only people
there are no people,
only faces and names
only voices and thoughts
his nonexistent pen
glides across the convolutions of his brain
old grains, cash crops, and dried grass
free words years later
sand of the Hudson
sifted into patrol boots of California
handsome plucked out boys,
blockaded by a publisher
won't tarnish a thought
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