7051. AND ARRIVED SOMEWHERE

AND ARRIVED SOMEWHERE

All these mountain greeneries and Sad-Sack fountains

mean nothing now : they've gerrymandered the graveyards

out here into their own pavilion.  Forsyth; Lipschitz; Wallengerber;

Wayne. Just a hundred and more delirious names. Every half-mile

another abandoned barn tells me something. I'm out of the well

and into the drought. Seems like, for sure. The underground

water stream percolates up to drivel a spring at the crossing.

-

I left yesterday morning, just for something to do  -  headed west

on some Route 1502, maybe read wrong, maybe 512. County

State or Interstate  -  makes no never mind again. At the Lehigh

Tunnel, I went right through. Fat Pennsylvania girls at either

side of the Wedgewood Diner.

-

Find me that statue again of the soldier with the lily-white rifle.

The bucket-top helmets worn by the cops, locally here, are made

lies of by mad motorcyclists whizzing by helmet-less. The streets

are paved with brains  -  and survivors alone remain to roam.