Leaving home young was the boy’s beginning


The four dollar a day hotels, communal showers,

rancid rooms, battered mattresses,

cans of soup lunch and dinner —

easy enough


From there he traveled foot and thumb

opposite the traffic


Women, old timers loved to tell him

what was wrong with his life


He listened to no one,

stuck to byways

he mapped as he went


His scowl spread with his travels,

carved the route that lured him

into the mountains

to camp alone in the pines


Whatever it was he heard

creeping around that night

he got lost in himself

was the creature he left for




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