Eastern Birds

Blue ship sail me,
Lost in the slipper of the night.
Full steam daily,
Puffing like a fisherman's pipe.

Walking up the main streets
Smiling, seeing things.
Far away a season is zipping up.

Green lights changing,
Cold Appalachian towns.
Dead strings breaking,
A snowstorm is going to come down.

Walking out of clubs, lame
Bound to the earth again.
A parliament of ravens too drunk to fly.

The Massachusetts Turnpike
Puritan, stock and still.
Headed for the heart of the Sunday night!