twenty one years old evenings in
the boston city public library reading
mexican history native american poetry
what ginsberg said to cassady in denver city
in nineteen forty seven and then when they kicked me out
i went to the bookshop across the street
to look at maps read a biography of dylan free

days i painted a clapboard house in cambridge
first i had to get the old flaky paint off
which took a while then i began to paint
it was a quiet street trees few people
it was peaceful working there alone
and the money wasnt bad

then covered with dust and paint
walking home in workclothes
past harvard university through old streets
of cambridge with redbrick footpaths
dreaming new york city mexico city
and all the cities that awaited me and
strange friends i hadnt met and women
on balconies in hot countries speaking
strange languages i didnt understand

one time
i remember this like yesterday
the angle of the sun
it was evening
i reached the bridge across the charles
and the bridge was leaping
across the back bays wide open maw
a sudden breeze kicked up
wild horses broke loose on open seas of grass
suddenly i was running
i was running across the sky across the water