THE BOX OF THE
BUS TOOK ME ON
Did I then run away just to be heard?
Was I fleeing from the grimace of my
own faint invisibility? I never was to know,
as before I thought of it all I was already
gone. The box of the bus took me on.
-
Traveling west, Pennsylvania called its
Ohio, and I stayed as they mingled. The
twist of the river brushed across my shoe,
anxious yet ready to move. Scanning one
strange horizon, I settled my gait and
got set to walk on. And walk on I did.
-
Travel's adventure, duration's mishaps,
each of them entered my fray. I sat long
mornings eating chestnuts and corn, things
taken or grabbed from wherever they formed :
the wild grace of wild food, a natural bounty
aiding me on. I smiled at the grace.
-
A traveler such as me had not before been
seen. Empty pages in an open book. My
pen was my heart and all set to write.
Geography I learned as I went. All my
Life was before me, my power was
push, and in use before it was spent.
-
Do you know what I mean and that which
I say? Can you hear me, oh loud folk,
oh millions, oh crowded city-scape's
growls and dogs? I am not silent, for
I speak to you, in all that I am
and all that I do.
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