the drug store of shoes

[revolutionrabbit]

a poet east the sidewalk
flung down the bowl
pieces of words
scattered on the dicey spicy wind
waits in the nook
reads a pirate book

like a wild one
is poet would be traveling gnostic priest
from a another age, a pagan or a gypsy
a monk or a highway man
on the typewriter sidewalk, now
days walk by
splat of India ink
smear of Roman ribbon

where the indelible invisible poet stood festooned on
corners, where language drags newspaper leaves
he drags on a cheap pen like a stogie
and makes like a tree
I wait by the plate
glass window for the cave of fish
letters swimming in wish trees
vast moans open and close
as I stands nowhere, anywhere,

around in his jones, a yen, a hank
to put it into words that stand alone
also next to the assassin of moments
the pale reasons we come to this place
in the middle of the nowhere
still very still looks at nothing
but an archaic image on a page
wind of radios and traffic noise in oceans of
butterflies, he was now just another streetlight
he was Mexico once when the revolution blew
through the Devil's Dictionary
through the labyrinth of book stores,& cafes, guess
I will go to where a poet can be free

the drug store of shoes speaks storms of jazz