Wave of mutilation

Airport bar.

Long Island, premium

because fuck it, that's why

10:40 in the morning

one stop in Dallas then across

the pond to the old world.

Head full of fire and hope

-of old things I've left here

-hanged twisted

and broken

45 years on this rock

out that window something

else waits

a new old style

on the page from a glance

a moment

a feeling

moving toward me

since the first piece of paper.

Here now, tired, wired, altered, alone.

The Amalfi Coast sitting brilliant

with the world watching back

while the coast runs up to France

waiting and winking and

naked of care

In here now

drinking away the

slow minutes,

peering

toward

Avignon.