After the seminar with beastly Bill, the sage-like old satyr,
My thesis, wrapped in plastic like a bag lunch and
Tucked into a warm green leather satchel,
Was promptly stolen by embittered farm boys
When the cops stopped us out on route four. My thesis.
Ice on the river, carried off by the current
I inflated the inevitable rubber raft
For an anxious ride down subterranean streams.
Like serving a tennis ball with a kitchen broom,
I used what was given to me.
Ice on the river, melting messages
As Hermes said to Aeneas sidetracked at Dido’s,
Grampa wants to know what the hell you think you’re up to.
On the steep beach cliff I could see down into a vortex in the surf, at bottom was an industrial yellow cylinder, black numbers stenciled on the side. I heaved a big stone that struck the waves with an ominous low gulp.
Ice on the river, pallid spirits
In the green room before my interview on mental disorders,
My cowboy shirt on backwards, my guitar unstrung,
Kindly musicians retuned my mettle. Imagine.
Ice on the river, broken items of time
Thread the wire through the mouths of the couches.
Give away free parking vouchers
To lucky motorists on Joralemon Street.
Ice on the river, crack the cold off of me
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