Driving Buses

 

I drive my bus

Full of grotty kids and lunatics

On the bitumen dream

Where middle-aged mothers with boxers’ eyes

Weep from the sidewalks

Of toy-trashed suburbs.

 

Driving my bus

Through the unfolding flower of dawn

And through the tangled tears of night

Where the boisterous poor

Wilt in their gardens of excess.

 

Driving them home

Driving lover to lover

To their acrobatic fields of fire

Driving the drunkard

Raging in his seat

And the girls with rainbows in their eyes.

 

Driving

Driving

 

Into the sorrow beyond the sky

And into the hollows of the lonely hearts

Who linger, speechless, at my ear

 

As we drive

And drive

 

Where the gutter ghosts rattle their dying coughs

Into the emptiness of night

And the half-cocked girls

Smoke toughness and cool

And the burning boys

Writhe in the furnace of desire

 

Where we drive

And drive

 

The streets are crying in the pools of time

And the dogs are howling in the summers of their heat

And the ladies are waiting on the corners of our youth

With their handbag smiles

 

And the faces we

Will never see again

Go sliding by

Tagged with: busbusesdrivingdriving busespoempoetry
 

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