Along The Way To Denver

the way

his cheeks move
in rhythm with his jaw
while
he is turning his back to the conductor
and unshaven
and his eyes are filled with canyons highways without guardrails
and being left behind busses wrapping (to warm himself) in
after thought exhaust

and he
would

and he
would:

"Denver is lovely this time of year it really is and you never have to write truth in your poetry you know that?"

but
some
one warned me
about boiling eggs
or baking cakes
at the
altitude

5,000 feet would frighten any
shade of turning from
truth right
away

so
it is remembering the pentameter of his poetic face
when eating or listening to music he does not enjoy
or spitting at
the black tied man in the back
of the bus

waving