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Dave Bonta
alone abroad
I find my unself
find my if picture
like another face
I will make my go home
fit my tomorrow journey
I am at any time
ready for vacation
practicing to be simple
imagine the prizes we desire
in the present
this very body prepared
for his journey
down in the grave
crying might take one home with it
on new springs
where now this journey
out-drives any ruts
but not so easy
I drove myself to be merry
talking of travel
in the wool of the river
I should be profuse
journey anywhere at home
appear duskish
coffee is our new speed
joy in 100 pieces
but none at the price of a journey
to a thin bed
after my journey
the door is great as a wish
but poor as the prince of a closet
and a new black cloak
my house clean
from top to bottom
but my mind disordered
about my going
I shall visit other lights
which now every day grow less
I set out in the morning
on a journey without any words
to a half acre of land where
I always have been.
The way, though poor,
was a good companion.
I left my wife,
my brother, my wife,
my uncle, my wife,
my father, my wife
without a thing.
between fast and feast
foul weather fair weather
between here and where
the river
we went into it with resolve
as into a great ore
With my night tooth
and my dirt fiddle I
broke down,
nothing to live by
but to play the country
uncle, write
a journal of my journey
to this bed.
I long to go to several places
and be still.
How rich, on another shore,
to come to the same white ringing—
like a cheap joy
or tallow for the king of absence.