behind you singing, there’s a tv looks like a microwave and I’m just damned confused

why’d I follow you—guru of Viet Nam lost—
guru of meaning-tossed moments—

there was no road, just air/
the sound of air/
the sound of sun/
the sound of moon/
the sound of imagination—
yes, that wind,
imagination stirring eye-see, ear-hear—
imagination rustling through

transport transportation into the future

and now meaningless moments
have blown from the trees, have settled
in the eaves of my history—

the child behind you in Newport lost his brain
long ago on a road he imagined was there—
asphalt stretching through his children/
through his wife/
through his body as he struggled—
the child behind you chose

to believe

and there was no road/
just settling dust/
just settling words
into the minds of nations and time
that were ready to change

if only for a moment
with the fervour of youth