The DrifterThe drifter in the room is a stranger,
he is crazy, is Bigfoot with deer moccasins on− monster of condominium rooms and dreams. The drifter in this room used to be my friend. He spoke straight sentences, they did not sound like poetry- reverberated like a narrative, special lines good a few bad, or stories being unwound by the tongue of a gentleman, lip service, juggler of simple words to children. The night is a dark believer in drifters, they sound sober, affairs with the wind, the 3 A.M. honking of the Metro trains. Everything sleeps with a love, a nightmare at night. The drifter. |
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