the river

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i dreamed i saw walt whitman alive as you or me i was walking down a dusty road he sat beneath a tree i pointed to the sky above the tree neath which he sat and said, tell me o whitehaired sage what do you make of that? i sit beneath this tree, he said because it blots the sky i would fain sit here forever or at least until i die how negative is this, i cried quite property aghast come, let us fly the flag of hope and tie it to our mast the road turned to a river and i found myself afloat with li po and joyce kilmer in a leaky little boat the clouds were white, the sky was blue the ocean loomed ahead i could have flown to heaven but wanted a drink instead my mother’s name was adelaide my father’s name was fred my sister’s name was susie and my dog was old red we lived beside a mountain in a little hut of wood please pass me that bottle if you would be so good everybody has a story everybody has a tale everybody gets a letter from the government in the mail i left my mountain cabin and wandered through the hills high above the city with its flickering lights and thrills i ran from civilization and its roaring metal teeth and watched it burn and crumble but it gave me no relief i came down to the valley and walked the empty roads robots stumbled past me but i could not punch their codes they said the war was over and peace was now at hand but i saw a different message in the fog and burning sand i saw no happy gardens i saw no bubbling brooks i saw vultures in the sky above giving me close looks i saw omar khayyam in paris with a straw hat on his head i asked for words of wisdom and he told me, roses are red i saw rimbaud in samarkand and verlaine in timbuktu i asked for words of wisdom and they said, violets are blue i saw wiliam blake on broadway with a tin cup full of wine he threw his arms around me and we sang sweet adeline i roamed the whole world over looking for jesse james i found him in the bank of london but he did not know my name i wrote a sonnet to abraham lincoln and a letter to the pope i met ambrose bierce on clark steeet and he said, do not lose hope i was captured by nebuchadnezzar a pyramid to build we were marched past cleopatra down by the old mill moses threw me a nickel and joshua a lousy dime the movie started at six o’clock but i was not there on time the show went on without me because all things must pass the river to the ocean and the whiskey to the glass