LOVE IS AN ANCIENT DISEASE

THE IROQUOIS HOTEL

Looking out of the window
Of the Iroquois Hotel
5:13 in the morning
The streets are deserted
A light mist is falling
On turn-of-the-century red brick buildings
On Crescent St.
Opposite Parish Metal works
A pale-faced kid appears
And begins to play
A strange looking instrument
I’ve been on the move
From town to city
From city to town
Too many drinks
Too many people
Towns change
Faces remain the same
I’m being paid in cash
I spend it all
On rooms in ancient motels
Dutch Masters
And broken glass
I have few desires
I try to get to the sea
As often as I can
I strip off my clothes
And sink
Beneath the cold opaque waters
I float
And forget
On payday
I make long distance phone calls
At insignificant truck stops
I call my few friends
And associates
In far and foreign places
They’re hard to track down
They have a tendency of
Changing their whereabouts
Sometimes
I come across
A friendly face from the past
And am reminded of
What things were like
Before all of this
I spend most of my time
Reading books
I buy at Salvation Army stores
I find one
Everywhere I go
I’ve become quite good
At avoiding
The many nasty traps
Along the way
I’ve learned
To move carefully
One deliberate step
In front of the other
I turn my head frequently
I keep an eye on things
I travel light
I keep the beautiful
And the ugly
In sight
I carry with me
A large silver blade
Which I never use
Except to clean my nails
I strip things down
To the bare bones
In the summer months
I shave my head
I move quickly
I announce
Neither arrival
Nor departure
I act on instinct
Not on thought
Or calculation
I found it
To simplify matters
I listen to Coltrane
On the a.m. radio stations
When it rains
I frequent the churches
I sit quietly
And observe
The kind and troubled souls
Praying
And lighting crimson candles
For people
I don’t know
I’ve grown weary
Of amphetamine-fueled monologues
Veteran’s tales of combat
And the many
Teary-eyed stories
Of personal hell
My mind is at ease
When hearing
The sound of a running engine
And observing
The changing landscape
From a moving vehicle
I know what you’ve heard
And I hate to disappoint
Yet I’m drained
And fail to entertain
I don’t enjoy
The here
Or there
I favor the in-between