Washed my face in the rivers of empire
made my bed from a cardboard crate
down in the City of Quartz.
No news, no new regrets.
Tossed a Susan B. over my shoulder
and prayed it would rain and rain
submerge the whole western states.
Call it a last fair deal
with American zeal
and corporate handshake.
Take the story of Carpenter Mike
who dropped his tools and his keys and left
and headed out as far as he could
past the cities and gated neighborhoods.
And he slept neath the stars
wrote down what he dreamt
and he built a machine
for no one to see.
Then took flight,
at first light
of new morning.
