I walk, and I see the world.

Talking to no one

Like a silent storm.

Thinking of things to do

And say

Waiting on a train platform.

Nobody knows who I am.

Invisible cameras follow my footsteps

My boots, in the sand

My shelf of pretty pictures.

Repeating words

That echo and rhyme.

I pour myself into words and images that haunt me,

Like shadows that run through time

And follow me.

Like burnt out diamond light fixtures

Like daydreams of what should have been.

Like hidden messages on a

phone, you decline to answer.

Like a woman waiting.

Me, disappearing

Like condensation.

They will judge me, I'm sure.

Stuck in their relentless trance,

they will never know.

I don't create. Or copy, or

Measure.

I just dance.

I integrate existing matter. I imitate.

I go down in

Subterranean passages, without a ladder.

I breathe life into dreams and signs,

And choruses, sung alone.

Things come to me that cannot wait,

Like flying designs

In the wind.

Images cure me, like leather.

Like medicine.

My eye and my hand must write out

My feelings about sky, and earth, and man.

About empty spaces.

About people

Lined up like a crossing train.

It rains out of me, and

I try to collect the drops

As they drop to the floor.

As from a giant cistern.

I hear songs, and try and learn the sound.

Like a prisoner in Hell, I have

No choice in the matter.

I am just a voice,

Singing loud.

Without a lantern, I explore the cave and the field.

As they spend all their time

Trying to sell me.

I try to reflect what is concealed.

Unsealed, like a scroll in the sky

Like a bell ringing

Like a sound in the land from

The line of telephone poles,

All saying

"I am."

In vain, I fight,

With color

And black and white.

And all they say is, "give."

Hey Mister

I don't want to own nothing--

I just want to know what is happening.

How to get home.

Just if I were a deep sea-diver

Like a trapped miner

I am inside,

Going out with no plan.

Through their lectures

In perfect rows

While calmly sitting

My mind is my gun, thrusting through the air.

In the pale blue sky

A shrill whistle from the wires

An electric bundle of cord.

While there waiting, on the edge of a bench,

On an empty train platform.

Oh,

Do not ask me why;

It does not matter, maybe, why.

I'm just there.

I just felt compelled, I say later

As ten million moments scatter.

Who knows.

Maybe I was just bored.