in a cabin on fields of snow

I took the steam train to you for
the sake of hovering crafts
and automatic vending machines
filled with pot and coke.

fifteen hours.
asleep with all
kinds of cargo.
one stop, but
this is Alaska.

I arrived, and went in, and slept;
I did it for 3 days without waking.
but would you believe the things I would see
on that cot—through it’s blood soaks

the most fantastic and the most grotesque
of beings and all of them spoke
in a way that spilled and flowed over
everything, filling beautiful crevices.

last night’s was an excursion—
it was done there; it would be left
there and never tasted or smelled
by unsympathetic ol-
factories.

it’s just me and you now,
the day is so tired with us
sitting around every one,
swearing every little thing,
passing back the joint,
the bottle, the line.