St. Louis

williams must
have loved saint louis. why else
would after years
of hating
every so often choking on things
he have lain face
against the drugged pavement and every-
thing he murdered
turned to narcotics in his most worthy fist-

and the angels are singing old western songs about california-arizona-texas-colorado. where the hell
is that damned crossroad when some-
body needs it? at a bar-

getting most gloriously drunk

but the campus
is a light. there
are heavy curtains
of sun from the
mississippi all flying outwards into empty pockets into
the calf-
eye of

a college boy standing
by the city limit holding
wide a poster
board
sign for pittsburg "we are

far from
home"

then williams would sit
there laughing in the
wide moon

"aren't

we all boy? aren't

we all?"