Sitting in Shreveport
outnumbered, pretending to be Southern
wondering what happened to my world.
Listening to Lightfoot and wanting to be French
I realized that is what drove me away.
My past keep moving while I sat in my future
Everybody moved and I was gone.
Sitting in Shreveport,
watching women drink and spend death money
crying and raping me until I could not move.
(I painted the walls terracotta, adding brass wherever)
Until I burst and ran.
and my past kept moving on past me.
When I saw Rocky on the Wheel,
it started to trickle back,
Don't worry she whispered, It's my husband, he's a cop
and again I pulled away.
and another dozen trips around the Sun and a billion time miles
It is late and I still can't remember why I was sitting in SHreveport.
But digital miracles, tiny byte vines are weaving,
and it clears
and with the infinite in sight
my past again paints my future
it is warm inside