all the carnival rides


nothing, you can't make nothing out of nothing
and I read writers who
who who like a vacant owl
and the road with its dots and dashes;
signs and bullboards and the long skanky motels
and I have liked them
little and anonymous
I go in a desperate looking restaurant bar
say I talk
the waitress or the barstress
has heavy
and you know she has kids
and an old man who has left
and a semi most of the time local Johnny
and she knows your bullshit
and's seen all the bullshit before
but if you're new somehow and he's not there
buggin her to get her to his place before
she goes back home to her kids
and her hand cocked on her hip
cause you're different
or just different enough
or if you say a stupid joke
and she knows you don't think she's stupid
or a joke
as she often thinks of herself
and she asks where ya from and you answer
in a way that sounds somewhat interesting
or just bewitching enough
and she mouths lowly I get off at two
and you wait around
dabbing at a meal or a coffee
and later at the Tumbleweeds Motor Hotel you
wake up to too much heat light
her last impression in the bed sheets
fragments of perfume
place yourself back in your twenty year old car
or Greyhound
try to feel busy